Something To Hold Onto
by aliwildgoose
Summary: Jet and his second command, a mysterious boy named Li, have spent the summer piecing together an army, hoping for a chance to take Ba Sing Se back for good. But Li is also Zuko, and the time for that secret is quickly running out. Jet/Zuko
1. Before the Lions Take Their Share

**Thanks:** The main body of this story took almost a year to write, all told, and would not have happened without the help of several very dear friends. Many thanks to kittyjimjams and jlh for being fantastic betas and holding my hand and answering a zillion late-night emails and essentially keeping me sane, to gulliblesnail and boredgods (and Kitty, too, for that matter!) for drawing SOME AWESOME DAMNED ART and giving great feedback while they were at it, to emsariel for listening to me talk about this AT LENGTH for MANY MONTHS, to froglartbge for his super-helpful advice and suggestions, to foxysquid for repeatedly assuring me that I would eventually finish the damn thing, and to the folks at jetheartszuko for making this ship a particularly awesome sandbox to play in.

oOoOo

_Jet understood people. He'd only known Li for a few hours, but he could tell the other boy wasn't much for conversation. So he volunteered to hand out the food they'd "liberated" as Li went to join his uncle, putting off his own hunger for just a while longer. The other refugees needed a smile and a kind word almost as badly as a good meal, and Jet enjoyed the feeling of benevolence._

_He enjoyed Li, too. Kind of a lot. He wasn't exactly sure why, but something about him drew Jet's gaze. It wasn't just the scar, though that had marked Li as a likely sympathizer. It wasn't even that Li was almost unbearably sexy and the shy, standoffish type Jet always fell for, so much so that Smellerbee was already teasing him about it when Li was out of earshot._

_No. No, it was something else. Something in the way he'd smiled at Jet across the ferry's kitchen, bags of food slung over both their shoulders. He didn't seem like a boy who smiled very often._

_Once he'd finished making the rounds, Jet sat down across from Li and his uncle on the deck, their share of the bounty laid out on the rough wooden planks. Jet couldn't remember the last time he'd seen food like this. There wasn't a lot of roast duck in the forest._

_"From what I heard, people eat like this every night in Ba Sing Se," he said, settling crosslegged on a square cushion. "I can't wait to set my eyes on that giant wall."_

_"It is a magnificent sight," said Li's uncle, oddly somber._

_Jet sipped his tea, strong and steaming hot. They must have found somewhere to build a fire. "So you've been there before?" he asked._

_"Once. When I was a…different man." Li's uncle looked away as he spoke, his expression shadowed. Jet knew how he felt. He thought of himself as he'd once been, frozen to a tree in a distant forest, and felt a chill go up his spine._

_"I've done some things in my past that I'm not proud of," said Jet. He remembered the sound of a dam blasted open and the rush of water that followed, echoing through the valley as the girl — Katara, that was her name — called him a monster. "But that's why I'm going to Ba Sing Se," he went on, quieter now. "For a new beginning. A second chance."_

_Li's uncle smiled. "That's very noble of you," he rumbled. "I believe people can change their lives if they want to." He turned to Li, then, his expression serious again. Two pairs of yellow eyes met, shining in the lantern light. "I believe in second chances." Jet watched them and couldn't help but wonder what had happened, what past lay behind the old man's words. _

_Li was the first to look away, his gaze flickering around the deck before it settled on Jet again. Jet smiled at him, and after a moment Li smiled back, a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth most people would have missed._

_Jet didn't ask any more questions that night. He didn't have to. Eventually, Li would tell him on his own._

oOo

"I can't help it," said Jet, already pulling at the buckle of Zuko's studded belt. "You just look so fucking hot in that armor."

Zuko tried to push him away, hands flat against Jet's chest as he glanced down the narrow alleyway. "Which won't do me a lot of good if you take it off," he hissed. "Come on, we're supposed to be-"

"We've got hours," Jet murmured. The belt was slipped off Zuko's waist and lowered noiselessly to the ground.

They did have hours, but that didn't put Zuko at ease. This raid was important. There wouldn't be another delivery this big for weeks, and their own supplies were running low despite Jin's careful hoarding. The populace as a whole was a few days away from desperate, the grumbling in the rice lines growing louder every day. The last thing the Freedom Fighters needed was to loose those people's trust.

Ba Sing Se had been the beating heart of the continent, and when it fell the Earth Kingdom had collapsed around it, the smaller city states unable to survive on their own. The aristocracy had long since fled to private estates in the countryside, quickly followed by any merchants wealthy enough to bribe their way past the Fire Nation checkpoints. The wave of invading soldiers soldiers had taken the homes they'd left behind, lavish mansions converted to barracks, the manicured grounds trampled by komodo rhinos. Food and medicine were strictly rationed, and the lower classes were regularly pressed into work gangs. The only businesses still opening their doors were taverns and whorehouses and the dry goods stores where people collected their meager allotments.

After a century of jealously guarded peace, the war had finally broken through the walls. And now the war was bleeding this city dry.

Zuko's own future had rarely looked so bleak. Azula and her friends were gone. The Avatar was dead. Uncle had left to attend to his own business, the only hint of his intentions a white lotus tile he'd tucked into Zuko's palm. So when Jet had asked a third time if Zuko would join his freedom fighters, it hadn't been much of a choice.

A hand slid up the front of Zuko's tunic, pressed close to his skin by plates of hardened leather. He gasped as Jet's thumb found his nipple. Another thing he couldn't refuse. "What if someone-"

"No one comes this way." Jet leaned in to nip at taught cords of muscle in his neck. His next words were muffled and low; Zuko felt as much as he heard them. "That's why we're here, right?"

"We're here to steal rations, not-"

"Fuck?" Jet breathed, lips against his jaw.

Zuko closed his eyes until the wave of desire passed over him. This wasn't the time. "Jet-"

"The delivery's at midnight." Jet took Zuko's wrist in his hand and guided it down; pushed his erection against Zuko's palm. "Please, baby, it's been so long."

"It's been two days," Zuko muttered, even as he ran his thumb along the length of it, so hot through the heavy cloth.

"I know." Jet's hand moved over Zuko's ribs, past his waistband to the curve of his ass. "Too long."

Zuko exhaled, a long shuddering breath. He was hard, whatever he said. Jet's scent reminded him of the smell of their room, their bed, the sheets a crumpled mess at their feet. "Where would we even..."

Jet's answer was to push Zuko's pants over his hips. When they were low enough he stepped on the crotch with one foot, dragged them down until they lay in a pile on the packed dirt. Jet's fingers dug into his bare thigh, hard enough to bruise. He lifted Zuko's leg and hooked it over his hipbone.

Zuko fumbled with the fastenings at Jet's waist, his own pulse loud in his ears. "This is ridiculous."

Jet spat on his fingers. "Maybe," he murmured, his hand snaking down again, around and behind. "But you don't care, do you?"

"Jet..."

"No one's coming." Jet smiled as Zuko squirmed in his arms.

Zuko frowned. "Jin will know."

"She will," Jet agreed. His tongue left a long, wet trail along Zuko's jaw.

This always happened -- Zuko let it, every time. It wasn't that he couldn't stand up to Jet, because he did. Often, and about a variety of things. Jet was reckless, impulsive, arrogant and merciless -- his charisma and certainty and knack for guerrilla tactics made him a natural leader, but left unchecked he'd have marched them all to their deaths months ago. Zuko pulled him back from the edge; forced him to think (ironic considering his own long history of rash decisions); asked him the questions he didn't want to consider, and demanded answers. Success lay somewhere between them, and their ragged band of followers thrived on their compromises.

Some contests, though, were decided before they began. Zuko always won at Pai Sho and the sparing of lives; Jet always got his way with strategy and sex.

Zuko bit down on Jet's leather shoulder plate, struggling not to moan as the other boy pushed inside him. Both his feet were off the ground, now, his thighs squeezing Jet's waist and his back against the plaster wall of the warehouse. His whole body moved with the force of Jet's thrusts, unhurried but hard and deep. It hurt, but he didn't care; sometimes he wanted it to hurt.

Jet's breath was hot and loud in Zuko's ear. "Is this what you want?" he whispered. His hands cupped Zuko's ass, holding him in place as he fucked him. Zuko's arms were wrapped around his neck, his mouth full of dusty leather armor; he knew he couldn't speak without shouting, couldn't shout without getting them caught.

Jet knew this, too, which only encouraged him. "This is why you really stayed, isn't it, Li?" He nipped at Zuko's earlobe, his thrusts quickening. "You stayed for this." He was teasing, of course. He didn't know what he was saying; had no way of knowing how close Zuko had come to giving up and turning himself in to his sister. It had almost seemed worth it, then; worth abandoning everything for a chance to rest, to see his home again.

Zuko closed his eyes, his hands in Jet's hair, his face pressed against Jet's neck. He had stayed for this -- for the boy in his arms. He had no regrets.

He unclenched his jaw. "Jet," he breathed. Jet tensed, his rhythm faltering. "Now, Jet."

He felt Jet's hand wrap around him, the skin warm and calloused and familiar. Already so close, he came a few seconds later, spilling through Jet's fingers and onto his shirt. Jet grunted once as he followed, head bowed, shaking with the effort of staying quiet. Jet was never quiet unless he had to be.

They kissed, still tangled up in each other.

Later, when they'd cleaned themselves off and pulled their clothes and armor back into place, they stood together in the alleyway, alert and waiting. Their faces were serious, eyes focused on the night watchman as he dozed next to the gate. Between them, their fingers interlaced.

oOo

The Jasmine Dragon's windows were shuttered, as they always were these days, but candlelight could be seen between the slats. Jet rapped six times on the heavy oak door, two short and four long, and a metal panel slid aside to reveal eyes narrowed with irritation. "You're late."

A moment later the door swung open, just far enough for the raiding party to slip through into the kitchen -- Zuko and Jet, followed by Smellerbee, Longshot and a Dai Li turncoat named Ping. They'd hidden the stolen rations at a warehouse they controlled in the lower ring. The details of how to deal with them could wait until tomorrow.

The boy who'd opened the door was small and soft, his hair pulled back into a braided queue and his eyes peering suspiciously at them from behind round spectacles. His name was Xue Sheng, and he'd been a student at the university before the city fell. Now he managed their meager resources and kept Jin company while the others were out on raids. "You were supposed to be back two hours ago," he said.

Jet shrugged. "The delivery was late."

"Jin was worried."

"She's always worried."

Bee slung an arm around Longshot's waist and dragged him off toward the door to the main room. "Your turn to explain," she said, grinning at Jet over her shoulder.

They had no use for a space as large as the Jasmine Dragon's lavish main room, and they'd strung up heavy canvas on lengths of rope to divide it into smaller squares. It wasn't much in the way of privacy, but it was all they could manage -- the Earthbenders among them didn't want to risk adding actual walls, and Zuko had argued against it besides. His Uncle had worked so hard on this place -- he couldn't bear to see it torn apart by amateurs.

"Hello, Jin," said Ping. Zuko followed his line of sight.

Jin was at the table, holding a steaming cup. It was obvious from the dark smudges under her eyes that she hadn't slept at all that night. "Hello, boys," she said, only a little exasperated as she stood. She walked over to them and reached up to ruffle Zuko's hair. "What kept you?"

Jet explained, about the late delivery and the unexpected guards inside the warehouse, about the ostrich horse that pulled their stolen wagon going lame, and about the scramble to find another before the patrols caught up with them. As he spoke, he draped an arm around Zuko's shoulders, casually possesive. Zuko was terrible at explaining things and rarely contributed to these reports, but he always stayed to listen. As did Ping, though Zuko knew he had his own reasons.

Jin nodded once Jet had finished. "Not as bad as it could've been, I guess." She glanced down at the front of Jet's shirt, sniffed once, and rolled her eyes. "Again?"

Zuko felt his face go hot, but Jet only laughed. "Can you blame me?" he asked, giving Zuko's shoulders a squeeze.

Jin chuckled and shook her head, waving them away. "Go to bed."

"Gladly," said Jet. He tossed off a mock salute, which Jin returned good-naturedly before standing aside so they could pass. Zuko could hear her speaking quietly with Ping as he and Jet climbed the narrow stairway that ran along the kitchen wall, up into the loft.

The tiny, windowless room had been meant for storage, and it smelled of tea and lamp oil, stuffy in the summer heat. It was the one thing they didn't have to share with anyone else, and while Zuko usually argued against special privileges -- second in command or no, it made him feel uncomfortable -- he couldn't bring himself to argue with this single luxury.

Jet stripped off his armor and tossed it onto the shelves that lined the walls, in between jars of ginseng and jasmine. "We did good tonight," he said.

"It was fine." Zuko frowned as he tugged at the buckles that held his gauntlets in place. It was Earth Kingdom armor, found in an abandoned guard house between the middle and lower rings, and he still wasn't entirely used to it.

Jet came over and gently pushed his hands away. "Let me." Zuko watched his long fingers unfasten the remaining gauntlet, and stood quietly as Jet moved on to the studded leather draped over his shoulders, the plates fasted to either side of his ribcage, the heavy belt. Some other time he might have been annoyed -- he could undress himself -- but tonight he was too exhausted to care. He lifted his arms obediently, and Jet pulled the hooded tunic off over his head.

Jet half-folded the last of Zuko's clothes and tossed them on top of the pile of discarded armor. "We're all alive," he said quietly. "We got the rations. We made it back home." He smiled and reached around Zuko's back, puling him close. He'd taken off his shirt, but the cloth of his pants was rough against Zuko's bare skin. "We did good," he said again, then kissed Zuko softly on the mouth.

Zuko chuckled against his lips. "You're just happy you got to fuck me in an alleyway," he muttered.

Jet grinned toothily and grabbed his ass. "Of course I am, baby."

"Pervert," Zuko teased. He laughed as Jet pushed him back onto the bed, then thew his pants in Zuko's face as he tried to sit up again.

Jet pounced on him while he was distracted, straddling his hips. "You love it," he said. He kissed Zuko on the end of his nose.

Zuko reached up to brush Jet's overlong hair out of his face, tucking it behind one ear. "Maybe," he admitted.

The bed was nothing more than a straw-stuffed mattress, set on top of empty crates and covered by threadbare sheets. Zuko only minded on those rare nights when he had to sleep alone. The warm, solid mass of Jet's body, strong arms curled around his chest and bony knees tucked up behind his own, was enough to make him forget. Jet was enough, for right now. Maybe for longer. Maybe always.

They had each other. That would have to be enough.

oOo

Jet had never much bothered with calendars in the forest - he could feel the first frost coming each year, knew how many moons he'd have from that day before food would be scarce, knew the Fire Nation convoys would be more frequent and more worthwhile once the snows melted. He had only a vague sense of how old he was — older than Smellerbee and Longshot, younger than Pipsqueak — and that was fine. Age didn't matter in his woods any more than dates did.

Things were different here. The weeks passed quickly between the city walls, and Jet couldn't ignore them. Even under siege, Ba Sing Se was a place of order, the movements of soldiers and supplies as regular as clockwork. His Freedom Fighters had no choice but to pay attention if they hoped to survive.

Jet turned his head to one side, the covers rustling softly as he moved. The room was pitch black, and he reached out blindly across the bed until his hand met the warm resistance of another body. He smiled and moved closer, sliding his arm across the other boy's chest. "Hey," he whispered. He nuzzled Li's ear, tousled hair tickling his nose. "You awake?"

Li grunted and rolled over, and Jet scooted up behind him, an arm curled around his ribs. He kissed the soft skin of Li's neck. "I can't sleep," he murmured. Another grunt was the only reply, and Jet kissed him again, hands wandering over his stomach, along the line of soft hair beneath his navel. In their first weeks together, Li had been the one who never slept, awake and alert every day at sunrise however late it had been when they'd crawled into bed the night before. Finally the weight of exhaustion had broken him of the habit, and these days he slept deep and long. But not Jet. After a lifetime of being hunted, it didn't take much to jerk him back into consciousness.

He'd no idea what had woken him this time, but he knew there was no point in trying to go back to sleep. He was even more tightly wound than usual. He still didn't care for dates, leaving that sort of thing for Li and Jin and Xue Sheng to worry about, but there were a few he'd been forced to pay attention to. Today was one of them, and his mind hummed with the details of everything they'd planned.

Jin hadn't come up to fetch them yet, and no voices could be heard between the floorboards. That meant they had a few hours left to themselves. Jet's hand drifted further down Li's stomach, and he nipped gently at one angular shoulder-blade. Li was already half-hard, and when Jet's grip on him tightened he moaned quietly. He was so hot like this, sleepy and unguarded. Jet pressed closer, his own erection tucked between the curves of Li's ass.

Jet wasn't sure how long it had been since that first day on the ferry. The weeks passed quickly, but times like this, when it was just the two of them, he felt like he'd known Li for years. He'd always found it easy to get strangers to do what he wanted — Li had readily agreed to help them steal the captain's dinner, and Jet hadn't been surprised — but he was slow to trust himself. He knew too well how vulnerable it made a person, how often it proved a fatal mistake. He was too smart, had lost too many good people, to fall into that trap.

At least, he'd thought he was. Turned out the right bait had just taken its time showing up. He'd shrugged off Smellerbee and Longshot's protests, ignored them when they pointed out how little he knew about Li and his uncle, even though they were right and he was being stupid . But he hadn't been able to help himself. He'd picked Li out from the crowd because of the swords on his back and the scar on his face; but the way this strange, pale boy carried himself was what had held his attention. Jet had thought it was cute how he'd glared out over the water, a bowl of half-rotten stew clenched in one hand, lips pressed together in a thin line of disapproval. He'd wanted to see if he could make those lips smile; wanted to find out how they tasted.

Li filled Jet's hand, now, his breaths quick and shallow between soft moans. Jet knew that if he stroked him a little faster, squeezed a little harder, he'd send Li over the edge. His skin tingled as he imagined it: Li's gasps as he shuddered in Jet's arms, whispered pleas for more, the smell of sweat and come in the small room.

Li mumbled something that sounded like Jet's name, his voice still thick with sleep, and turned inside the circle of Jet's arms. The feel of him was maddening, smooth and solid against Jet's hip. His hands moved over Jet's back, settling just below his ass. "'S too early," he murmured, even as his fingertips wandered.

Jet pushed him onto his back and wished it wasn't so dark. He wanted to see Li's pale skin flush, his erection thick and dark with blood, his lips just slightly parted. Jet held the picture in his mind as he kissed his way down the other boy's chest, tracing the lines of bone and muscle with his tongue. Li was so good. Too good, really, so much so that Jet couldn't let himself think about it. It made no sense that he'd gotten this lucky; that fate had delivered this boy to him, after everything he'd done, the human wreckage he'd left behind him. Li was good and honest and sane, whole enough to stay grounded but broken enough to understand. Li was why people like Jin and Ping and Xue Sheng had stayed to help; maybe why any of them were still alive at all.

Jet slid his lips down the other boy's length, enjoying how he tasted, the sensation of pressure against his tongue and the back of his throat. Li moaned again, louder, hips rising off the bed. Then he shifted suddenly, and Jet felt himself pushed away and to the side, until he lay on his back on top of the sheets. "Not today," Li murmured as his warmth and weight settled between Jet's legs, one hand already lifting his thigh.

Li was right. Today they'd need more than sucking each other off to sustain them, to remind them why they were doing this, why it was worth it. Jet couldn't see, but still he closed his eyes as Li kissed him, hands cupping Li's ass. He felt pressure, a sharp moment of pain, and then Li was rocking against him. "Yes," Jet moaned, and wrapped his long limbs around the other boy, pulling him closer, urging him on. "Li, yes. Yes, I need you. I need you so bad." His voice rose with every word, but he didn't care. Let them hear.

He'd never let another boy fuck him like this. He'd never shared a bed with a lover. He'd never let someone sleep between him and his swords. He'd never spent so many nights indoors, never trusted so many strangers, never let anything but his gut and his experience tell him what to do. "Jet," Li whispered, panting with exertion, and Jet crushed their mouths together, fingertips digging into Li's back. Li, who was so good, who had stayed behind even when his uncle left, who held Jet's hand in private moments and kept the walls from smothering him.

oOo

Zuko had learned to sleep through sunrise, but he knew he'd never really get used to it. He could feel the sun as it crossed the sky, stoking the flames that burned deep in his belly and warmed his blood. He felt most alive in the morning, determined if not quite eager to take on the day's challenges.

He didn't see much of the sun in Ba Sing Se, so often strangled by walls and boarded windows. Most days he collapsed into bed a few hours before dawn and slept well into the afternoon. He supposed he got enough sleep, but it never felt refreshing. He started each day with a head full of cotton, his thoughts muddled and slow as he rubbed the sand from his eyes.

Jet's mouth on his dick was a much nicer way to wake up, and what followed had certainly cleared his head. But once the haze had lifted, a blanket of anxiety had settled in its place. Jet had laughed off Zuko's worry about the day's plan, and he was probably right to. But still. This raid would be different than all the others had been. Their life was chaotic in many ways, but there was a sort of routine to it, threads of predictability that knit it all together. The missions changed, but most days began as they strapped on their armor in the storage room and ended when they took it off again. As he pulled his shirt over his head, Zuko couldn't help worrying — about how this day would end, and what they would wake up to tomorrow.

Jin looked up from her ledger as they clomped down the stairs into the kitchen. A few rays of sunlight streamed in through slatted wooden shutters, and Zuko could smell the strong, black tea Jin preferred. "You're up early," she said.

"I thought you might want help with breakfast," said Zuko.

Jin smiled lopsidedly "You worked up quite an appetite from the sound of it."

"Oh, we _did_," said Jet, his voice so laden with innuendo that Jin laughed out loud.

"He's bad enough without you encouraging him," Zuko muttered, cheeks red as he unhooked a large wok from the wall.

He saw Jet move behind him, and then the other boy's arms were twined around his waist. "You encourage me plenty," Jet rumbled, close to his ear. Zuko was glad Jin couldn't see the look on his face just then.

"Go back upstairs if you've got unfinished business," she scolded.

"Like you don't wanna watch," Jet chuckled, but he gave Zuko one last squeeze and moved obediently away.

Feeling ruffled, Zuko set the wok down on the large, clay stove. A bowl of eggs sat on the scrubbed wooden counter beside it, no more than a dozen. "Are these all we have left?"

"For now." Jin sighed. "We're lucky we have that many. Someone poached one of the hens yesterday."

Jet frowned. "Who?"

"Not one of us," said Jin. "Probably just some hungry kid." Jet nodded, satisfied. There were a lot of hungry kids in Ba Sing Se.

Zuko rummaged around for another bowl, then started cracking the eggs into it. A few months ago, he hadn't known how to cook much of anything, his experience limited to fish and small game roasted over campfires. Before he left, Uncle had taught Zuko how to brew a halfway decent pot of tea, and Jin had patiently guided him through porridge and eggs. In his old life, he never would have bothered with something so domestic — he had more important things to worry about, better ways to spend his time. Now, he was embarrassed by how little he knew, and how useless he was so much of the time. He could handle himself in a fight, but he couldn't set a broken bone, or hammer a nail, or even make his own dinner.

He didn't like to think about how much charcoal he'd forced himself to eat before managing a serviceable omelet. But he had managed it. And he would manage other things, too, in time. He'd have to. He wasn't a prince any longer; he'd have to take care of himself.

Jin closed the ledger and pushed a hand back through her bangs. "I should start the porridge..."

"I'll get it," said Jet, smiling. The remains of last night's rice sat in a pot beside the sink. "Do we have any barley left?" he asked once he'd lifted the lid.

"In the jar next to the salt," said Jin. "You can finish it, Xue Sheng says there were ten more bushels in the shipment you picked up last night."

Zuko pulled the jar down from the shelf and handed it to Jet. It felt light, and after peeking inside Jet upended the entire thing into his pot. Then he moved the pot into the sink and started pumping water. "Hey, Li, is the stove still hot enough to boil this?"

Zuko could tell without looking that the fire had died down, but he held his hand out over the nearest opening. "No," he said, then took a few pieces of dried wood from the bin next to the stove and pushed them into the embers. He gave the fire itself a push, as well, though neither Jet nor Jin commented on how fast the wood caught. They never did. Probably, they hadn't even noticed.

Rice wine and oil were carefully measured and beaten into the eggs, and soon the mixture was sizzling in the wok. Zuko poked at the browning edges with long chopsticks as Jet plunked his pot onto the stove. "You nervous?" Jet asked, eyes on the shelf as he considered what was left of their seasonings.

"We've been planning this for weeks," said Zuko. "We know what we're doing."

Jet threw careless handfuls of salt and dry, shredded pork into the porridge, then tasted it with his finger. "You look nervous," he said as he added red pepper.

Zuko jiggled the pan like Jin had taught him. It didn't look like the omelet would stick this time. "Maybe a little," he admitted. "You won't be there."

"You've led missions without me before," said Jet, though Zuko could tell he was pleased.

"Nothing this big."

Jet dropped the pot's lid into place and ruffled Zuko's hair. "It'll be fine," he said, and kissed Zuko on the cheek.

As much as Zuko enjoyed it most of the time, the easy affection between them still felt strange. He'd never liked to be touched, and had never so much as kissed someone before coming to Ba Sing Se. During his exile, he'd learned of the things men did together in their bunks, and he hadn't particularly minded — if that was how his crew wished to entertain themselves, that was their business. But no one had spoken of it openly, and even on those nights when they drowned their homesickness in bad whiskey and worse music, their hands had never wandered in public.

From the day they met on the ferry, Jet had been different. He'd touched Zuko more than he needed to, sat closer than was necessary, held his gaze until Zuko looked away. They'd been standing in the back room of Pao's tea shop when Jet kissed him the first time, mouth tasting of the ginger cookies he'd snitched from Zuko's tray. Afraid of being caught, Zuko had pushed him away, but Jet hadn't been discouraged for long. He could tell his own friends and Zuko's uncle didn't mind, and he didn't care what anyone else thought. His hands always wandered, and soon they'd moved passed kissing, their bodies and their lives all wrapped up in each other. The city had fallen, and they were together, no different in Jet's eyes than Smellerbee and Longshot.

Zuko had worried, initially, about making the others uncomfortable, but Jet had cut him off the only time he'd mentioned it. "If they don't like it, they can leave," Jet had said. So far, none of them had.

No one ever left Jet's Freedom Fighters. Quite the opposite. They had too little space and too many mouths to feed, but Jet refused to turn away anyone who wanted to help. If you could pull your own weight, you could stay. Their ranks had swelled to fill every corner of the Jasmine Dragon — hammocks had appeared in the rafters a few weeks ago — and Jet spent most of his free time learning their names and their stories.

Jet leaned in to sniff at the omelet as Zuko slid it carefully onto a plate, his hand on the small of Zuko's back. "You're getting pretty good at this," he said.

"You guys need a hand?" asked a voice Zuko recognized as Smellerbee's. He turned away from the stove and saw her wander in from the main room, Longshot yawning sleepily behind her.

"We're pretty much done," said Jet. "You can go ahead and tell everyone breakfast's ready."

She nodded and ducked back through the doorway, but Longshot came to stand beside Jet. He raised one thick, dark eyebrow, and Jet laughed.

"Not you, too." Jet punched Longshot playfully in the shoulder. "You're as bad as Li. We'll be _fine_, okay?"

Jet liked to hold meetings over meals whenever he could. He said they put people into a better mood, and from what Zuko could tell he was right. Everyone knew why Jet had insisted they all eat breakfast together today, but no one mentioned it as they lined up in front of the stove for their bowl of thin porridge and tiny morsel of egg.

Across the kitchen, two short and four long knocks sounded on the heavy outside door. "I'll get it!" said Jin. She wove her way through the crowd, pulled aside a small, metal cover and peered out into the street. "Oh good, I was getting worried," she said as she undid the latch.

Xue Sheng shuffled into the room, hot and puffing from the summer sun. As Jin pushed the door closed he took a handkerchief out of his sleeve and mopped the sweat from his brow. "The supplies are taken care of," he said. "The manifest was completely inaccurate, though. Apparently they don't teach you how to count in the Fire Nation."

"Can't kill a man with counting," said Jet, though his tone was light and met with a ripple of laughter. "Thanks for handling it, Sheng."

"_Xue_ Sheng," he muttered. He was scowling as he took the bowl Jin offered him, but the ferocity eased a bit when Zuko snuck him an extra helping of omelet.

Jin craned her neck and looked around the kitchen, her mouth moving slightly as she took note of each face. "That's everyone," she said a moment later.

"What about Ping? Still casing things out?"

Jin nodded. "He'll be back before you need to leave."

"All right," said Jet. He touched Zuko's shoulder, smiled until Zuko met his eyes, then headed back toward the stairs.

The first few times Jet had held a meeting like this, he'd stood on the table, but Jin had put an end to that. Instead, he climbed halfway up the stairway to the storage room and leaned back against the wall, arms folded over his chest. He didn't have to call for attention. Within seconds, the room had quieted, silent except for the faint scrape of chopsticks as kids too hungry to wait downed the last of their breakfast. Zuko moved to stand with Jin beside the door. The smile she offered was pinched at the corners and didn't quite reach her eyes. Like Zuko, she already knew what Jet would say, and she'd had plenty of time to worry about it.

"I hope you got enough sleep last night, 'cause you'll need it," said Jet. He didn't raise his voice, but it carried to every corner. "We're doing something big tonight. Bigger than taking back the food the Fire Nation stole from us. Bigger than raiding the armory so we can use their own weapons against them. For too long, we've just been fighting to survive. Tonight, we take the first steps toward setting this city free."

A cheer went up, then, and Zuko felt an odd tightness in his chest, pride mixing with the worry into a heady cocktail that made his heart pound.

"You all know about the checkpoints between the rings. The Fire Nation uses them to strangle our supply lines. They want us hungry and desperate, and so far they're doing a pretty good job. I can't remember the last time I felt full." Low murmurs of agreement, a few bangs as empty bowls were slammed down on the table. "Lucky for us, they're not as smart as they think they are. There's a checkpoint that isn't guarded as well as the others: the Eastern Gate, between the middle and upper rings. If we take control of it, we can move as much rice as we like, and there's nothing they can do to stop us. Who are they to tell us where we can and can't go?"

"No one!" someone shouted. Probably Gen, one of the older fighters at something like fifteen.

"That's right," Jet agreed. "So we won't let them tell us. We'll show them they can't push us around.

"So, it's like this. We'll break into two units, and if I haven't told you otherwise then you'll be with me. Smellerbee and Longshot are my lieutenants on this raid, so listen to them. It'll be important for us to work together and move together."

A girl with a long, curved scar under one eye — Xiao Si Wang, whom Zuko had taught the art of dual swords — raised her hand. "What about Li?" she asked after Jet had nodded toward her. "Where will he be?"

Zuko saw Jet's shoulders tense at her question, though he doubted anyone else had. Except maybe Jin, who saw more than most people did. "Li's in charge of the other unit," said Jet, smiling to show there was nothing to worry about. He didn't elaborate, and Xiao Si Wang didn't ask him to. She did meet Zuko's eyes across the room, her expression questioning, but he smiled, too. Better she not know.

The way Jet spoke of it now, Zuko's mission sounded like an afterthought. Only a handful of them knew the truth of it, and Jet wanted to keep it that way — if the Dai Li caught wind of their deeper motives, the whole thing would fall apart.

In a few hours, Jet would lead his ragged army in a full-scale assault on the checkpoint, a battle far beyond the scale of anything they'd dared to try before. Before Jet and Zuko let him in on their secrets, Xue Sheng had argued that the raid was a reckless waste of time and men — even if they managed to win, they didn't have the numbers to hold captured territory. The gate would be retaken within a matter of days. And the checkpoint was only a minor inconvenience, really, beside their larger problems — they carried rice in sacks along the rooftops, and most nights these deliveries went unmolested. The raid was foolish and short-sighted, the sort of rash bravado the Fire Nation expected of them.

Exactly what they expected, so much so that they'd never think to question it. It had been Zuko's idea, originally. "They don't respect us," he'd said, remembering the "us" just in time. "They think we're stupid, angry peasants, and that's good. They'll underestimate us."

The problem wasn't checkpoints, but the whole idea of territory. The Jasmine Dragon and a few, scattered warehouses were all they could hold onto. The Fire Nation had superior numbers, true, but numbers alone could be worked around. The wall standing between them and real progress was firepower. Not bending, which they had as well, but tanks. Hundreds of iron tanks that could mow down a dozen men in seconds, could roll right over blockades and could withstand all but the most precise and powerful Earthbending.

Which was why Ping and not Jet would be by Zuko's side that night. While the rest of the Freedom Fighters pounded away at the Eastern gate, Ping's handpicked team of benders would try to dismantle an iron fleet.

oOo

"So how'd I do?" Jet asked. Once he'd finished explaining the details of their evening's plan, he'd settled down on the steps with his own bowl of porridge, listening to snatches of excited chatter as he ate. Within three bites, Li had appeared and sat beside him. The steps were narrow, and Li's body was tucked up close against Jet's own, just as Jet liked it to be.

"You did fine," said Li. He turned to give Jet a quick kiss on his temple, his lips feather light against Jet's skin before he flushed and pulled away again.

Jet chuckled. "We've still got a couple hours. Maybe we should head back upstairs..?" Li's eyes widened, his undamaged cheek burning red, and the chuckle became a full laugh. "You're cute, you know that?"

"Jet…"

"You know, in a manly, sexy way."

"I…" Li lowered his eyes. "I think Ping's back."

Jet thought it was cute when Li abruptly changed the subject like this, too. But before he could say anything about it, another series of knocks sounded on the door. The front door, which only two boys were guarding right now, and the wrong knocks, which hardly ever happened. Jet frowned, his eyes on the doorway between the kitchen and the main room. Smellerbee had already disappeared to investigate, and Longshot's fingers twitched along the hilt of his knife.

"Are we expecting anyone?" Li asked as they both stood.

"No."

"Maybe it's just another orphan."

"Maybe," said Jet, though he didn't believe it. Kids and friendly visitors turned up at the kitchen door. The good surprises never came from the front.

Everyone in the room quieted as Smellerbee jogged back in. "It's a man. Alone. He wants to talk to you," she said, her eyes on Jet.

"Should I?"

"I think he's all right. He mentioned Li, too."

"Well then," said Jet, and jumped down from the steps.

The man was young, about Jet's age or maybe a little older. He had long, straight hair that spilled down the back of his Earth Kingdom armor, and a tidy mustache and goatee that looked only a little ridiculous. He had waited for them on the wide, stone porch that overlooked the city, leaning on the wall that bordered it. He straightened as Jet and Li approached, his expression somber. "Hello," he said once they were close enough to hear. "My name is Haru. I've come to ask for your help."

He didn't stare at Li's scar, which made Jet that much more inclined to hear him out. "I'm listening," Jet said.

Haru glanced around them. "Maybe somewhere a little more private."

"Top secret, huh?"

"Yes."

Jet shrugged. "All right," he said. "The roof, then."

A lifetime in the trees meant Jet was more comfortable up high than on the ground — sometimes he'd climb up here just to take in the view and breath in the cool, fresh breezes that never quite reached the street. Now, he felt no pleasure as he clambered onto the sloped expanse of tile, all his attention on the strange man below him who Earthbent handholds into the wall. And Li, who'd climbed up first and stood on the long, narrow beam that ran the length of the roof.

"Private enough for you?" Jet asked once they were all up on the ridge. He could tell Haru was trying very hard not to look down, but the man hid his fear well. Another point in his favor, if a small one.

"It'll do," said Haru. He met Jet's gaze directly, his eyes narrowed. "Sokka told me not to trust you."

It took a lot to catch Jet off-gaurd, and that comment came close to managing it. He hadn't expected to hear that name again. "I guess he'd have reason to say that," he said, choosing his words with care. "We didn't exactly part on good terms."

"No," Haru agreed. "He said you might want to help us, but that I shouldn't let you. He said your methods are too harsh. Reckless."

Li spoke, then, startling them both. "Maybe before," he said. "Not now." Jet felt a fresh swell of affection, then, even if he couldn't let it show.

"That's what I hear," said Haru. "The whole Earth Kingdom's talking about you. About what you're trying to do. I guess I'll have to gamble that Sokka was wrong."

"Who's this Sokka person, anyway?" Li asked quietly, turning to Jet. "The name sounds familiar."

"A friend of the Avatar's," Jet muttered. Li's breath caught at that, but Jet didn't pay it much mind. He was still watching Haru. "Not sure why Haru here's running his errands, though."

"Because the Avatar's my friend, too," said Haru. "And right now, he needs your help."

Jet scowled more deeply, trying to judge if this guy was crazy or a liar or both. He hadn't been there, himself, but everyone knew what had happened in the catacombs under the city.

"The Avatar's dead," Li whispered. Jet did look at him, then, surprised by the tremor in his voice. Li was pale, even for him, and his hands were curled into fists. "Azula…Princess Azula…she killed him. She killed him months ago."

"That's what I thought, too," said Haru. "Too many people were after him, so he's stayed hidden all this time. But he's alive. By now, he's halfway across the Fire Nation."

Li seemed too shocked to say anything else, so Jet spoke again, not bothering to hide his irritation. He didn't like being manipulated. "What does this have to do with us?"

"The war is going badly. You know that better than anyone, from what I've heard. So we're bringing the fight to them."

"What…like some kind of raid?"

"An invasion," said Haru. "Right to the capital. A fleet of Water Tribe ships are gathering at Xi Mian Bay right now. In a week, they'll set sail for their rendezvous with the Avatar. And I think your men should be on board."

"You do, huh?"

"You're wasting your time here," said Haru. "Even if you could take back the city, what would you do then? The rest of the Earth Kingdom is crawling with Firebenders. You couldn't survive as an island for long. Our only hope is to help Aang take out the Fire Lord and end this war for good."

Jet could feel Li shaking beside him, and he rested a hand on the other boy's shoulder. "Sounds like a fun time," he said, not even pretending at good humor. "But I'm gonna have to turn you down."

Haru frowned. "What? Why?"

"You said Sokka doesn't trust me," said Jet. "That's 'cause I hurt the people I was supposed to protect. I cared more about slitting Fire Nation throats than taking care of my home." He lay his arm across Li's shoulders, pulling him close. "This is my home, now. I'm not gonna turn my back on it."

Haru had remained calm through all of this, but now the strain began to show in his face. "We could end this war in a _day_," he said. "One day, and it's over."

"And then we'll come back to a city that's got nothing left to save," said Jet. "Sorry, friend, but no. I know where I'm needed, and it's not some Fire Nation beach. If I die, it'll be right here, on my own land, with my own people next to me."

Haru looked at Li, as if asking what he thought of this. But Li only shook his head, jaw tight and lips pressed tightly together.

"I can't make you do this," said Haru. He reached into his pocket, producing a folded square of parchment. "Here's a map to Xi Mian Bay. If you change you minds, I'll see you there in six days."

"We won't," said Jet. He didn't take the parchment, and after a moment Haru sighed and tucked it back inside his tunic.

Jet watched as Haru lowered himself back down to the street, following his progress until he turned a corner and disappeared from sight. Only then did he turn to Li, who didn't seem to be looking at anything at all. "Hey," he murmured. "You okay?"

Li's throat moved as he swallowed. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Jet gave Li's shoulders a squeeze. "Don't let that guy worry you," he said. "We'll be all right. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Yeah," said Li. He closed his eyes. "He doesn't know."

oOoOo


	2. One Last Night

oOoOo

The Avatar was alive. Zuko repeated those words to himself in his mind, over and over and over again. They held him captive, dragging the whole of his thoughts down a path he'd long assumed was closed to him, the city skyline fading into a memory of light over the ocean — the shaft of blue-white that had torn into the sky.

He had never forgotten his quest. He had felt the absence of that last chance for honor every day. But he had set it aside as a lost cause on the day the walls came down, left all those hopes and disappointments behind him just as he'd left behind his own name. He had tried to look forward.

But now the Avatar was alive and he was in the Fire Nation, a few weeks from the capital. Haru's invasion couldn't possibly succeed, but if it did? For so long, Zuko had been pushed through life by two forces: his search and the man who'd set him on it. His entire purpose, the reason he'd struggled and fought for so long, had been to bring them both together. And now they were about to meet, all on their own, as Zuko sat a world away in a crumbling city. Did they think he was dead? Had they bothered to think of him at all? Or had he been forgotten, a relic of how things had once been, now nothing but a tragic curiosity?

Zuko had stood on the city wall and watched his sister's ship steam out of the harbor, black smoke rising from its stack as it rose from the crumbling buildings behind him. He'd thought his last chance at redemption had gone with her. But today, fate had once again dangled that promise in front of him, achingly close.

Haru hadn't recognized him; had even asked him to come and fight. How far could he get, Zuko wondered, before he was discovered? How close? Would they let him board their ships? Would he make it all the way past the Great Gates of Azulon, to the shore he'd left behind so long ago? Even as he thought about it now, allowed himself to consider such things for the first time in months, Zuko saw how simple it would be. He could join their forces so easily, melt into the press of strangers and let them carry him home again.

They were the Avatar's friends. A closed helmet and a little luck would bring him near enough to do whatever he needed to. Before that, he could ask, and they would tell him anything he wanted to know. If he could stop the Avatar, stop the invasion — if he could find some way to warn his country of what was coming — surely his father would thank him. Surely that would be enough. Then he'd be free of all of this. Then he could start living again.

"Li? You okay?"

Zuko started, Jet's words bringing him back to the rooftop where they still stood. He turned to look at the other boy, whose arched brows were drawn together. "Yes," said Zuko. "I'm fine. Sorry."

"You looked a million miles away, there."

"I'm fine," Zuko said again. He tried to sound more convincing, but it was hard — his mind spun through possibilities as he spoke. "It's fine."

"Don't let that Haru guy worry you," said Jet. "He doesn't know what he's talking about. This city's counting on us, you know?" He smiled. "We'll make it all right again."

Zuko thought of Water Tribe ships sailing across the bay, toward the open sea. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe we should go. They need us, too. Maybe it's the right thing to do."

"Don't even talk like that," said Jet. "This is our home. We can't just ditch it because things are hard."

Zuko remembered docks along the shore; wide roads that led up into the volcano, to the heart of the city where he'd been born. "But you hate it here," he said. "You always say that. How much you miss the forest."

"I'm getting used to it," Jet said with a small shrug. "Besides, when the war's over the woods'll still be there. I can wait. That's not where I'm needed right now."

"But _they_ need us. They need our help. In the Fire Nation."

"Yeah, well, I can't see any reason to think their plan's any better than mine," said Jet, an edge to his voice. "I know what I'm doing here and I'm not gonna leave just because some Earthbender with a bad mustache wants me to."

"Maybe…maybe I should go," said Zuko, who was only half-listening. "I could take a few people with me and -"

"What the hell, Li?" Jet snapped. "If you wanna leave that badly, just do it and stop making excuses."

Zuko blinked, focusing on Jet's face. "I don't want to leave you," he said slowly. "I'm…that's not what I meant. I'm just…weighing the options."

"There aren't any options. I'm staying right here until they burn this fucking city down around me."

"Jet…" Zuko closed his eyes and saw the ocean, wide and flat and deep, steel grey. He heard Jet sigh, and felt a warm hand on his back.

"We need you here," Jet said quietly. "We can't do this without you."

Zuko squeezed his eyes tighter. "You can."

"I can't," said Jet. Zuko heard him move, then felt strong arms wind around his neck, the moist warmth of breath against his hair. "Look…I know how you feel. If the Avatar's alive, that changes a lot of things. I met him once, you know. I don't think I ever told you. He seemed like a good kid. I'm glad he gets another shot at this." Jet sighed and some of the tension left his body, his arms less rigid as he pulled Zuko closer. "I hope Sokka knows what he's doing. I hope that bastard Ozai is dead by next moon. But it isn't our fight to win or lose."

Late at night, when he couldn't sleep and the sound of waves was his only company, Zuko had sometimes wondered if he would ever see his father again. Maybe his ship would be lost at sea. Maybe he would never find the Avatar. Maybe, someday, he wouldn't have the strength to look any longer.

But this? His father dead and that chance of reunion gone forever? That outcome wasn't one he'd ever considered. And even with his eyes closed and his ears full of the sound of his own heart, he couldn't block it out.

Jet pressed his lips to Zuko's forehead. "You can't fix the whole world, Li," he said softly. "But we can fix this place. Make sure it's still here for Aang to save if he actually pulls this crazy stunt off."

Zuko listened to his blood, a too-quick thrum, and to the rasp of his breath as he drew it through clenched teeth. Jet's arms were all that kept him from sinking to his knees.

oOo

Jet was used to Li being quiet before a raid, and normally it didn't worry him. Everyone dealt with stress in their own way, after all. Jet liked to distract himself with chatter, and Li didn't. That was fine. He could talk enough for both of them.

But he didn't like this silence. Instead of cozy and familiar, their small room felt airless, heavy with a dread that smothered Jet's cheerful words. For a while, he stopped trying, listening instead to leather that creaked as they moved and the soft clink of buckles. His own armor slipped effortlessly into place, familiar as his skin. He used his chin to hold an arm guard steady as he pulled the last strap tight, his eyes watching Li in the lamplight. Some other time, Jet would have reached over to help the other boy without asking, but today Li wouldn't meet his eyes, and Jet waited with his hands at his sides.

Li struggled with the plates that hugged his ribs, fumbling over complicated fastenings. Jet would have felt better if Li had seemed irritated, swore under his breath or thrown the plates down on the floor or wondered aloud why they kept it so fucking dark in there. He was used to that, too.

Li didn't do any of those things. He tugged ineffectually the straps, sighed, and spoke in a voice so hollow that Jet found he missed the silence. "Can you get this?"

"Sure." He took the straps from Li, and their fingertips brushed. Even this contact was more than they'd had since they'd climbed down from the roof, and it sharpened the contrast between this stilted, awkward avoidance and the warmth of their usual routine. Jet made short work of the fastenings, tugged at each plate of armor to make sure it was secure, then stepped into the space Li allowed so few to enter.

"Hey," he whispered. He found Li's hands and wove their fingers together. "You aren't still thinking about that guy, are you?" Li didn't answer, which Jet took to be a yes. He brought Li's hand up to his mouth and kissed the knuckles, a show of gentlemanly manners that often made Li smile. "Should I be jealous?"

Li didn't smile. He looked down at the floor, cords of muscle standing out along his neck.

Jet slipped a hand into Li's hair, combed his fingers through the thick, coarse tangle. "All right," he murmured. "I just hate to see you drive yourself crazy like this."

Li drew one shuddering breath, held it, let it out again fast and sharp. Then he stumbled forward to press his face into Jet's chest, arms limp at his sides even as Jet's snaked around his shoulders. Jet stroked his hair, breathed in the scent of sweat and oil and leather. "It's all gonna be fine, baby," he said. "I promise."

"You can't promise that," Li whispered, his voice half-lost in the cloth of Jet's tunic.

"I just did," said Jet. "Lucky you, I keep my promises."

oOo

Ping was one of the oldest members of their group, though how old, exactly, none of them could say. He'd told the Freedom Fighters everything he could about the Dai Li — strategies and strongholds and a few, crucial weaknesses — and saved all their lives by doing so. But Ping was stubbornly closed-mouthed about the details of his past, however much Jin pestered him. Maybe that was why he and Li got along so well.

Jet was curious, of course, but he never asked anyone to talk about things they didn't want to. He wouldn't begrudge another man his secrets. Some things hurt too much to remember, nevermind explain.

He found Ping in the kitchen, seated at the table beside Xue Sheng with a pile of scrolls between them. Aside from helping Jin manage supplies, Xue Sheng's main responsibility was keeping their maps up to date. A city of Earthbenders was always shifting, but since the occupation these changes had become more dramatic. Jet remembered the day the Dai Li brought the walls down, destroying in seconds what they'd fought for centuries protect. After that, they'd cut a path to the palace, flattening houses and shops to make a boulevard wide enough for an army.

Xue Sheng had a brush and ink at hand, the scroll before him spread out and held in place by small, smooth stones. Jet recognized the dense warren of streets, bordered on one side by the wide curve of a wall. The farther from the center, the more haphazard the city's layout became. In the outermost fringes, where he and his friends had lived before the fall, the streets and alleyways were a hopeless jumble, buildings stacked on top of one another like weeds trying to reach the sun. That was where Li would be in a few hours.

"Longshot confirmed it this morning," Xue Sheng was saying. "Just outside the ninth ward, between the thirty-second and thirty-first watchtowers." He dipped his brush and began to sketch in the empty parchment beyond the wall, holding his sleeve out of the way of the dark, wet ink. "They really must not know, if they didn't even bother to move the yards."

"Perhaps," Ping murmured.

Xue Sheng chewed his lip, the brush filling in details of gates and guards houses. "Why put all their tanks in the same place? And so close to the wall? They have to know how vulnerable that makes them…"

"Arrogance," said Ping, then raised his eyes to look at Jet. "Is it time?"

Xue Sheng's head jerked up, his brush-less hand reflexively pushing his spectacles up his nose. No longer supported, his sleeve dropped onto the glistening lines. "Jet. I…I'm almost done…"

"It's fine," said Jet, and smiled in a way he hoped was calming. "You're doing fine."

Xue Sheng didn't look reassured, and Jet wondered again why he made some people so nervous. He had the feeling Xue Sheng expected him to cut someone's throat at any moment. Which was ridiculous, of course, particularly here in the Jasmine Dragon. No one here was Fire Nation.

"Where's Li?" Ping asked.

"Li's off being Li," said Jet easily. He smiled at Ping, too. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Of course."

Jet lead Ping out the kitchen door, into a dim alleyway that smelled of cabbage and molding tea leaves. Ping's face betrayed nothing, not even the expected curiosity. He stood beside the dumpster and waited, patient and close-mouthed, for an explanation to come.

Just now, Jet didn't feel like drawing things out. "It's about Li," he said. "I want you to watch him for me tonight. Keep an eye on him."

"I always do."

"Yeah, I know." Jet grinned, trying not to look as worried as he felt. "But he's been acting a little strange today. You know how he gets."

Most other people would have told Jet that Li could take care of himself. But Ping considered Jet's words carefully, a small frown on his lips. "You know him best of all of us," he said. "If you're worried, so am I. I'll make certain nothing happens to him."

Jet had hoped this conversation would put him at ease, but it didn't. The worry was still there, sitting like a lump in the bottom of his stomach. He wondered if he should tell Ping what had happened on the roof. Maybe then Ping would know what to watch for.

Behind him, the kitchen door swung open. "Time to go," said Smellerbee.

"Yeah, thanks," said Jet. Smellerbee nodded and ducked back inside. Jet didn't need words to tell her he needed a few more moments of privacy.

Ping was still watching him, grim and opaque as he waited to be dismissed. They weren't in that much of a hurry — he could have told Ping, then. He could have explained about Haru, and the invasion. But Ping might have felt the same way Li did, and Jet didn't want to have that conversation again — not now, not right before a mission, not in an alleyway where anyone could hear them.

Jet bent down to pluck a dry stalk of grass from between the cobbles. "Come on," he said. The grass tasted of dust as he tucked it into the corner of his mouth. "Those tanks won't trash themselves."

Maybe he'd talk to Ping about it later, he thought, when things weren't so crazy. No point in distracting him now. One night wouldn't make a difference.

oOo

Joining the Freedom Fighters had been much simpler than Zuko would ever have expected. Zuko loved his country. He wanted it to be strong, and felt certain it had great things to teach the world. But that knowledge shouldn't be gained at the cost of so many lives, so much heartbreak and such a weight of suffering. He'd been in the Earth Kingdom a long time — he knew what the war had done to its people. People like Jet, who woke screaming from nightmares he couldn't bear to describe, and always slept with a knife within reach.

Azula should never have taken this city. It wasn't difficult for Zuko to justify fighting to take it back.

Zuko crouched in moon shadows on the wall of the outer ring, watching for dark wings against the blue-black sky. Soon a messenger hawk would arrive with news of an attack on the Eastern Checkpoint. The streets surrounding that gate were too dense for tanks to navigate, so a small guard would be left behind while a mounted platoon was sent to join the fray. Then Jet and the others would struggle to hold against wave after wave of reinforcements until another hawk — sent by Zuko this time — told them their distraction was no longer needed.

Zuko had helped Jet with this plan, and he knew it would work. He knew how the Fire Nation fought, how its officers behaved and how it moved to squash rebellions like this one. The soldiers of his country were rigid, slavishly tied to procedure and accordingly predictable. Only Azula held any surprises, and she was gone, a host of lesser men left to rule in her name.

Even in exile, Zuko had been a functional part of the Fire Nation's military, his own tiny ship an unmentioned charge of the massive Eastern Fleet. They'd received regular dispatches from Fire Navy communication towers, and Lieutenant Jee had kept close correspondence with the captains of friendly ships, those willing to trade supplies and information with a crew of such low standing. Years away from home had robbed Zuko of many things, but not his sense of belonging — however marginalized, he was still a son of the Fire Nation.

He watched the sky and tried to concentrate on hawks and troop movements, on guards standing in pools of yellow light and Ping's men hidden below him, waiting for his signal. But as the moon rose his mind drifted west again, to matters over which he had a maddening lack of control.

The justifications were harder to hold onto tonight. In this city he was one unremarkable soldier among many, not even a bender as far as anyone knew. Ping's team was the key to tonight's work; Jet was the one whose words inspired them to fight at all. If not for Jet's favor, Zuko would be just another warm body — one of a few dozen swordsmen, one of a hundred Freedom Fighters.

The Avatar was in the Fire Nation, and Zuko was in Ba Sing Se, and every hour he stayed was one less for the journey to Xi Mian Bay. His own home was weeks away from being invaded, his father the sole target of an entire army, and here he was, risking his life to defend a foreign capital while his own was in unknowing peril.

At home he was a prince, exile or no. At home he could save his country with a single word of warning. Only a coward would refuse that burden, and Zuko had played that part too long already.

The soft sigh of wings refocused his gaze. A small hawk, the sort used for short sprints within the city walls, fluttered down to a perch on the main watchtower, just outside its only lit window. Gloved hands reached out to slip the message from the scroll case on its back, and in the lamplight Zuko caught a glimpse of dangling ribbon: orange, suggesting urgency and the need for reinforcements.

He knelt beside bricks still warm from the sun and listened to the shouts of men and the rumbling protest of Komodo Rhinos dragged out of their stables. He watched a tight rectangle of men assemble in the yard, foot soldiers flanked by cavalry, and waited as they marched through the gates.

Zuko could still hear the clink of their armor and the heavy steps of rhinos as he dropped down onto the stable roof, a hasty-looking structure built against the wall. The sentry at its doors had a pipe in his hands, packing tobacco into the bowl with the pad of his thumb. He eyes stayed on his work as Zuko crept up behind him, low and dark on the gables, and he hit the ground with a muffled thud when Zuko struck a sharp blow to the back of his skull.

Countless nights behind a mask meant this was easy work, stealth coming naturally to him in a way few tasks ever had. He scaled the watchtowers one after another, swung through unshuttered windows, felled guards without a catch, without their even having the chance to gasp or register surprise, each man unconscious before he could think of raising an alarm. Some other time, Zuko would have felt some satisfaction at this, enjoyed the rare feeling of competence and control. Tonight, he would have been glad for a challenge — at least then he'd have a distraction from his thoughts.

Zuko bound the last guard's wrists and ankles, then slipped down a narrow stairwell and out into the yard. He crouched on the packed dirt and thumped it with his palm, three times in a measured rhythm. A soft rumble echoed through the yards, and six figures rose out of the ground just inside the fence, so quiet that Zuko could hear the click of scattering pebbles.

Ping's eyes shone beneath the wide, flat brim of his helmet. Zuko pointed to the main tower and Ping nodded, once, then signaled to the others, two fingers indicating the hulking silhouettes of tanks, long straight lines extending past where Zuko could see. The Earthbenders ran silently across the open yard, cushioning their steps, arms extended behind them.

Ping hung back a moment longer, still holding Zuko's gaze. Then he turned and slipped away into the dark.

From the tower, Zuko watched them go to work. They'd practiced on the wrecks of old machines, and the skills they'd honed were evident, their movements precise and eerily quiet. Razor-edged slabs of rock carved off wheels and sheered through treads and axles, lopping off the barrels of guns and splitting open cabins, the glass of shattered instruments glittering on the ground.

Zuko's fingers twitched at his sides, the air cupped in his palms growing warm. Tanks like these weren't meant to withstand an assault by Firebenders. Zuko knew how they were put together, had been inside one more than once; he could have halved the time it took to destroy this fleet.

Zuko could have. But not Li.

Jet was right. The Freedom Fighters had to stay, to protect what was left of Ba Sing Se and its people. Zuko, however, did not. He didn't belong here. He wasn't needed here. He wanted to see Jet again, wanted one more night of the life they'd built together. But that was all he could afford. Tomorrow he'd tell Jet he needed some air, and he'd go for a walk with his swords and a few provisions strapped to his back. And he'd keep walking, all the way across the Serpent's Pass, to the shores of Xi Mian Bay where his destiny lay in wait.

oOo

In the woods, no one could ever really corner you, provided you knew what you were doing — there was always a tree to climb, a ravine to slide down into, a tangle of vines you could slither though to safety. In the woods, Jet had always had the advantage. But there weren't many trees in Ba Sing Se, and the walls that rose on either side of him were sheer and smooth, studded with barred windows that poured flame down into the street. The Eastern Gate blocked one end of the narrow courtyard, massive doors banded with iron; behind him, mounted soldiers formed a line that bristled with spears.

"Up and over!" he shouted, throat raw from trying to make himself heard over the clang of swords and the cries of injured men. On either side of him, Freedom Fighters in mismatched armor crouched down low, eyes on the cavalry and fists clenched on battered hilts. When the rhinos charged Jet ran to meet them, timing his steps so that his foot hit the closest animal's horn in the valley of its stride, momentum carrying him forward up its boney snout and onto the ridge of its back. In one smooth, graceful movement Jet ducked under the soldier's spear, hooked the end of one sword through his throat, used it to swing around behind him, then tore the blade free with a savage twist that splattered Jet's face with hot blood. The soldier made a quiet, gurgling sound as he slid from the saddle.

Li would frown at his sodden clothes later, but Jet didn't see what he could do about it — tonight, mercy wasn't a luxury they could afford.

Jet took the soldier's place and grabbed for the reins, made difficult by the blades still in his hands. A few feet ahead on the back of another rhino, Smellerbee shoved a limp body out of her way, pulling her knife from his ribs as he fell to the ground. "Guard house," she said, settling into the saddle.

Jet slapped his rhino's flank with the flat of his blade, and it leapt forward through the tangle of foot soldiers, toward the gate that loomed ahead. The guard house was a small, square room with windows on all sides that sat in the middle of the checkpoint's wall. The moon had sunk beneath the rooftops, but torchlight caught the broad, flat outline of a straw hat inside it.

"Behind you!" Smellerbee called, but even as Jet turned he heard the sharp, sudden whisper of an arrow beside his ear. The soldier who'd been scrambling up the tail of Jet's mount clutched at his shoulder and tumbled back to the ground. Jet didn't allow himself even a moment of relief — ten more soldiers would replace that one before the night was over.

The point had never been to win this battle — they had known from the beginning that victory would be impossible, and Ping's spies had only cemented how badly outnumbered and hopelessly positioned they would be. An Earth Kingdom army would have been hard-pressed to take so well-defended a position, and they were barely more than a handful, mostly city kids who were still too soft and too slow.

No, the point had never been winning. Their entire purpose in this was to provide a distraction, to keep the Firebenders busy while Li and Ping worked. All they had to do was survive long enough for their friends to finish. After that, they could abandon this bloody courtyard and go home to lick their wounds.

Jet's rhino reached the checkpoint wall, and he borrowed its inertia to launch himself into the air, hooks catching on a windowsill. He pulled himself up, feet planted against the stone wall, yanked one sword loose and hooked it onto the top of the frame, pulled himself a little farther, repositioned the other sword. His arms had started to ache and his palms were torn and blistered, but he ignored all of that; bit down harder on his stalk of grass as he forced his body to move. Beside him, Smellerbee shimmied up a drainpipe too thin to support the weight of someone larger, her own knife clenched in her teeth.

She hadn't been the first to notice Longshot in the guardhouse. Jet hauled himself up over the edge of the wall, landed behind three Firebenders already drawing back their fists, the air burning with half-conjured flame as he sliced through outstretched arms. They screamed but he barely noticed, already moving past them, careful of his footing on a walkway slick with gore. He glimpsed Smellerbee through the guardhouse windows, clinging to the back of a man three times her size. Her blade flashed, and his hands scrabbled pointlessly at his throat as the life spilled out of him.

They reached Longshot's side moments apart, wordlessly taking the same positions they had held in countless battles before this one, their backs to his as he reached for another arrow.

The air smelled of smoke and burnt hair and the blood of Firebenders. Jet measured time in the arrows that flew from Longshot's bow and the bodies that fell at his feet, piling on top of one another in a gruesome barricade — as much a trap as a shield.

"How long?" Smellerbee asked as she watched the next wave of soldiers pour out onto the wall.

"As long as we have to," said Jet, in a tone that brooked no argument. Li was counting on them.

Something hit the wall over his right shoulder, sending a cloud of plaster dust up into the air. "Shit," Smellerbee grunted, eyes not on the soldiers but on the guardhouse roof. A man in dark, heavy robes hung from the ceiling, the hand pointed at Jet's face sheathed in a glove of stone.

oOo

It didn't take Zuko long to pack. He stripped off his stolen armor and set it neatly on the storeroom shelves, the metal plates and thick, hard leather too heavy to carry so far. He'd take his share of the next week's rations in the morning, when no one would remark on his visiting the pantry. That aside, there wasn't much he needed — he tapped a few pots' worth of Jasmine tea into a pouch, dug a clean tunic and an extra pair of shoes out from underneath the bed, rummaged through the shelves until he found a tarp that wouldn't be missed, the waxed canvas stiff and caked with dust. He tried to think of what else he might need, but concentrating for more than a few seconds proved impossible.

He barely remembered the last hours or so. They'd finished at the yards and come back here, the Earthbenders covered in grease but triumphant. Jin had wanted to hear the details of what had happened, and Zuko had left Ping to explain, mumbling some nonsense excuse and hurrying up into the attic. He was a terrible storyteller on any day, and tonight he would have been worse than usual. Earlier he'd forced himself to focus on the work ahead, but once his task was finished his thoughts had turned completely to his own, private plans. Sitting in his room with his meager collection of necessities, he let himself feel the full impact of what he'd learned that day, to think about he was going to do and where he was going to go.

After three long, hopeless years he was going home. He would find the Avatar and save his country; prove himself to his sister and make peace with his father. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this way — almost giddy, like he couldn't sit still. Jet would notice when he got back, but Zuko hoped he wouldn't think too much of it. Probably he'd think it was about the battle they'd just won.

Zuko felt a pang then — an ache of doubt in his chest that cut through the haze of excitement. He lay his hand flat on the bed and smoothed the thin, moth-eaten sheets. He was going to have to say something.

He swallowed through the tightness in his throat and stood, opening the storeroom door. He still had to consult Xue Sheng's maps, and check that the route he'd planned was still passable. He'd figure the rest out as he went.

Jin and Ping were alone in the kitchen, and both looked up at the sound of the creaking staircase. Ping was as inscrutable as ever, but Jin's face was drawn with worry, and when Zuko looked past them to the windows he could see why. "It's almost dawn," he said stupidly, his mind too crowded for anything but the obvious. He must have been upstairs longer than he'd thought. "Jet's not back yet?"

Jin shook her head, her hands twisting in the fabric of her robe. "They shouldn't be taking this long," she said. "You got back over an hour ago. Even if someone tried to follow them…the checkpoint's not that far away."

Ping scowled out at the alleyway, arms folded across his chest. "When exactly did you send the hawk?" he asked.

It took a moment for Zuko to realize Ping was talking to him. When he did, he remembered, and remembering squeezed the air out of his lungs. "The hawk," he whispered.

The messenger hawk. The hawk with the gold ribbon, bright enough to be seen from a distance. The hawk he was supposed to have sent to the Eastern Gate when they finished with the yards.

"Yes, the hawk," said Jin, worry creeping into her voice. "When did you send it?"

"I…" Zuko shook his head, his hands coming up to press against his temples. "I didn't."

Jin drew a short, quick breath and covered her mouth, brown eyes round and startled. Ping's reaction was more measured. Slowly, he lowered his arms to his sides, turned from the window and met Zuko's gaze across the room. "You didn't send the hawk," he said, his quiet disappointment far worse than shouting would have been.

"Li, how _could_ you?" Jin whispered, hands still over her mouth. "How could you just…this is _Jet_…"

Zuko shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut to block out the look on her face. "I forgot," he said. "I forgot, I'm…I'm sorry. I'll go-"

"You'll stay here," said Ping, slicing through his words. He picked his helmet up off the table, his eyes shifting to Jin. "If I'm not back within an hour, you should take the others and leave." He fastened the strap under his chin, bowed once to her, then bent himself down into the floor, the flagstones swallowing him and then smoothing out, leaving no trace of his passing.

Zuko sat down heavily on the steps, his forehead resting on his palms. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything, just listened to Jin's uneven breaths and the muffled sound of the Earthbenders talking amongst themselves in their room upstairs.

Hours. They'd finished _hours_ ago. And Jet might still be fighting now, still struggling to hold out against an occupying army with scavenged swords and a few dozen half-starved kids.

"I'm sorry," Zuko whispered.

"Don't apologize to me," she said, voice thin and strained. "Apologize to him when he gets back."

The silence blanketed them again, each sitting perfectly still as they held vigil. They watched the sliver of sky they could see grow pink and then pale blue.

A knock at the kitchen door brought both of them to their feet. Jin barely glanced through the peephole before undoing the locks and throwing the door open.

The alleyway was mostly empty. Ping stood at the head of a tight little knot of misery, hollow-eyed boys and girls supporting the wounded between them. The Freedom Fighters avoided moving in large groups when they could help it, not wanting to attract attention to themselves or to their base — the healthy and the lightly injured would dribble in over the course of the morning.

Ping waited for the others to file past, then ducked into the kitchen. "Longshot and Smellerbee took the first and fifth units," he said as he closed the door again. "Gen was badly burned, but no deaths. They were lucky."

"Jet," Zuko croaked. He swallowed and tried again. "Where…which unit is he with?" When Ping didn't answer right away, he asked again, his voice rising. "Which unit is Jet with?"

Ping glanced at the younger Freedom Fighters, who were pumping water into the sink and fetching bandages from the store room. Then he crouched down in front of where Jin and Zuko sat, his face level with theirs. "I'm going to tell you where he is," he said in a perfect monotone. "But you need to stay very calm, and very quiet. We don't have time to deal with the others panicking. We have to move quickly to have any chance at helping him."

Zuko felt like his throat was closing, but he struggled to keep his voice low. "What happened?"

"The Dai Li were at the checkpoint tonight," said Ping. "They must have targeted Jet specifically. No one else is missing."

Zuko grit his teeth. "What. _Happened_?"

Ping hesitated, the pause more alarming than anything he'd said. "Jet was captured," he rumbled. "They've taken him to Lake Laogai."

oOoOo


	3. A Darkness Deep In You

oOoOo

Everyone remembered the day the walls came down — where they were and what they were doing when the news first reached them. It was the sort of moment one's life pivoted around, the world transformed in the space of an afternoon.

Jet remembered better than most. He had never been shielded from the war, had grown up without any walls to protect him. He understood exactly what the people of this city had lost, and knew what horrors might lay ahead.

They had all been in the kitchen together — Smellerbee and Longshot washing cups, Jet having just come back from a delivery, his shirt damp with sweat. He's been chatting with Li's uncle, Mushi, as he watched the older man blend the afternoon brew, measuring fragrant leaves into a tiny metal bowl. The Jasmine Dragon had opened for business a few days earlier, after weeks of harried preparation. Jet had never held any kind of job before, but he'd been getting used to it. The deliveries meant he never had to stay inside for long.

That day, Li had been the only waiter on duty. Jet remembered Li's face as he ducked out of the main room: tight-lipped and stoney, though Jet could tell he was worried. Still holding a tray in one white-knuckled hand, Li headed for the stairs.

"Hey, wait up," said Jet, laughing a little. A hand on his shoulder stopped Li for a moment, long enough for Jet to take the tray from him and set it aside. "Where you going in such a rush?"

"The roof." Li was often serious, but something in his tone gave Jet pause. When Li started climbing again, Jet followed close behind him, the amusement of a few moments before already forgotten.

Ba Sing Se was a sprawling beast of a city, and the Jasmine Dragon stood near the heart of it. But from the roof they could still see the outer wall, a ribbon of sand-colored stone that surrounded them on all sides. They had come up here before to watch the sun set, Li quiet and Jet chattering about whatever came into his head. Now, Li squinted carefully at the skyline, a hand held up to shade his eyes.

But Jet's eyes were sharper, and though he didn't know what he was looking for he nevertheless found it first: a cloud of yellow dust billowing up into the western sky. He pointed, and Li let out a long, slow breath, his hand coming down to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"A soldier came into the shop," he said. "He was yelling about the wall. That someone had brought it down."

"That's ridiculous," said Jet reflexively.

"I know."

Both of them knew. Every Earth Kingdom child knew of the Dragon of the West, the only man who'd tasted anything like victory over the impenetrable city. Not even his months-long siege had been enough to break through the walls.

They knew it was impossible. Yet they stood and watched the cloud as it settled, blown east over the city.

What struck Jet first was how clean a hole had been made. There wasn't any rubble that he could see, no crumbling blocks of stone, no cracks in what remained. The wall simply ended, the harbor visible through the gap that had been left.

Jet clenched his teeth against a wild, indulgent moment of denial, long seconds in which he pretended not to see, not to understand what had happened. He stared hard at the place where the wall had been, at sunlight glimmering off the water, until the worst of it had passed. Then he scanned the wide, green plains of the agrarian zone that lay between the outer wall and the first of the city's rings, his heart still pounding. The air was hazy, but he could see a dark line moving through the fields.

A sharp breath beside him told him Li had seen it, too. Together, they watched in horrified silence as the next wall fell, neat columns of stone sinking down into the dust.

"Bastards," Jet whispered. "Those fucking bastards finally did it."

"Jet…"

"We have to go."

"Jet."

"We have to go and fight them." Jet's hands moved to his swords as he plotted a route across the rooftops, old instincts bubbling to the surface. "Maybe we can still-"

"_Jet_," Li said a third time, loud enough now to make him pause. "Fight _who_?"

Jet turned to Li, incredulous. "The Fire Nation," he said.

Li's gaze shifted back to the outer wall. "Firebenders couldn't have done that."

"What are you talking about?" Jet asked, but even then he knew. As soon as Li pointed it out, the truth of what had happened was obvious, a cruel unwanted knowledge that made his eyes sting at the corners. A hundred years of war, so many lives given to protect their greatest city, their pride and their last hope. Only to end like this.

Mushi was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, his apron gone and a bag slung over his shoulder. Jet had never seen him look so grave — it made him seem older, the lines on his face deepened by worry.

"It's true, then?" he asked. Li nodded, and Mushi closed his eyes for a brief moment. "I had hoped it would not come to this," he said as he opened them again. "These old bones are tired of running. But it seems that fate is not ready to let me rest just yet."

Li's brow drew down. "You're leaving."

"Yes."

Li glanced at the bag, and the next word came out small and strangled. "Now?"

"I cannot risk being trapped inside the city," said Mushi, gentle but firm. "There is too much work to be done."

"I understand," said Li, though Jet could hear the strain in his voice, and felt Li's fingers brush his palm. "I'll go get my things."

Mushi stepped forward, reaching up to squeeze Li's shoulder. "I will not tell you what to do, my nephew." His tone was intimate, as if Jet wasn't standing a few inches away. "But perhaps your place is here."

"Uncle-"

"One man can travel more quickly than two." His eyes flickered sideways, meeting Jet's for an instant. "And there are others who might need you more than I do."

"But…" Li looked between the two of them, visibly torn, and Jet's heart fluttered in his chest. "Uncle, I can't. Not after what happened before."

"We will not be apart for long," said Mushi. "We will see each other again."

Jaw tight and eyes squeezed shut, Li managed one, stiff nod. Then Mushi drew him into a fierce embrace, his head barely reaching Li's collar bone. "I will return as soon as I can."

"I know," Li whispered. "I know, Uncle."

"I am so proud of you," said Mushi, hoarse with emotion. "I am so very proud of everything you've done."

Li bowed his head, lip caught between his teeth and shoulders trembling. "I haven't done anything."

"You have. And you will." With a loud sniff he pulled back, eyes shining as he clasped one of Li's hands in both of his. "Do not lose hope, my nephew. I know it is sometimes hard to see the light at the end of all of this, but if you just keep moving — keep struggling — you will come to a better place. "

Mushi turned to smile at Smellerbee and Longshot, who had watched this exchange in their usual, quiet way. "Thank you for your help," he said, bowing to each of them. He met Jet's eyes one last time, serious even as he smiled. "Please take care of him."

Then he was gone, and Li stood in his new uniform and starched apron, staring down at the Pai Sho tile in his palm.

Longshot and Smellerbee looked to Jet with questions on their faces. "Get the customers out of here," said Jet. "Then barricade the doors."

When they'd gone, Jet moved toward Li, stopping just short of where he stood. Things were new between them, then, the spark still fresh and untested. But when Jet slipped an arm around Li's waist, Li didn't pull away.

They stood that way for some time, silent and unmoving, Li's eyes on the fist he'd clenched around the tile.

"What am I supposed to do now?" Li rasped.

Jet felt Li's empty hand curl over his, and he pulled the other boy a little closer, pressed his lips to cropped brown hair. "What do you want to do?" Li shook his head mutely, and Jet reached up to touch his unburned cheek, feeling the frustrated heat that had risen there. "How about you stay with me for a while, then," he said. "Until you can figure it out."

"What're you going to do?"

Jet paused to think, though he didn't really need to. He'd known what he would do from the moment the dust had settled. "The Earthbenders helped them," he said quietly. "That means the army's worthless, now. Maybe the Dai Li, too." Even as this new burden formed in his mind, he felt oddly relieved. He'd missed having so clear a purpose. "Someone else is gonna have to fight for these people. Someone's gonna have to look out for them."

All those months ago, standing with Li in the empty kitchen, he'd known he wanted to look out for more than just the city; that he wanted to protect something selfish and specific.

"Li," he whispered now, a summer later, his voice swallowed by perfect darkness. What had happened to Li?

He didn't know where he was, or how he'd gotten there. He remembered the guardhouse, the Dai Li agent who'd dropped on him from the ceiling, Smellerbee yelling his name. After that his memory dissolved into a haze of pain and movement, the darkness of unconsciousness and the darkness of this room bleeding into each other, indistinguishable.

He could feel heavy cuffs on his wrists and ankles, cold and sharp, held close to the iron wall by chains he could hear but not see, metallic echos his only hint at the size of his cell. He didn't know how much time had passed. Not too long — the cuts on his lips were gummy with half-clotted blood. He could still feel both his hands, though his joints ached from the strain of supporting his weight while he was out.

The hawk. Had the hawk ever come? He couldn't remember seeing it, but he hoped it had. Bad enough that he'd let himself get picked up like this — far worse would be if he'd failed Li by doing so.

He tried not to think about it, but in this empty iron box his thoughts were all he had, and they swirled unchecked through possibilities. What if the Dai Li had gone to the yards? What if Li and the others hadn't made it out in time? What if they hadn't finished? What if their plan had failed entirely, the tanks left whole and deadly in their neat, nightmarish rows? What if Li shared in his fate, alone in another damp, black room?

One thing, at least, Jet could be certain of: if Li wasn't here already, wasn't chained to these same walls, then he was on his way. Jet didn't think this because of some inflated sense of self-importance; he simply knew it to be true. If Li was alive and free then he would come, however long it took, however difficult the road between.

"Keep struggling" Mushi had said, but Li didn't need to be told. He fought like most men breathed. Whatever happened, whatever stood before him, he never stopped. Jet doubted that he could.

oOo

Jet heard the faraway sound of a body hitting the floor, the dull thud of impact echoing through corridors. He held his breath, straining to detect some other hint of what was happening outside his cell. Minutes passed with nothing but the ringing in his ears, growing louder until he gave in to the need for air and took another breath. Maybe he'd just imagined it.

When it came, the next sound was startlingly close: the careful scrape of stone against metal, no more than four or five feet away in the black expanse in front of him. He heard the muffled click of a lock turning over, then a sliver of green light appeared on the floor, widening as the door groaned open, filling his cell with a brightness that seemed like daylight after so long in the dark. It came from small, glowing crystals, hung around the necks of two men with cloth masks over their faces.

Jet waited for them to close the door again before his spoke, smiling though it hurt to do so, the cuts on his lips torn open. "What took you so long?"

Li was at his side in an instant, mask pulled down, breath quick and hot against Jet's cheek. "Are you okay?" His hands moved over Jet's ribs, prodding gently. "Did they break anything? Can you walk?"

"I'm fine," Jet chuckled. "I'm glad you guys showed up, though. It's pretty dull around here." He turned his head toward the other man, who'd crouched down at his feet. "That you, Ping?"

Ping grunted an affirmative, and Jet felt the cuffs around his ankles move. "This one is more complicated," he muttered. Jet had watched him work before, and recognized the soft, grinding sound of stone forced into a lock.

Apparently satisfied that Jet was still in one piece, Li slid both arms around him, his face pressed to Jet's neck. Jet could feel him shaking, and he rubbed his cheek against Li's hair, breathing in his scent. "I was worried about you," Jet murmured. The trembling worsened, and Jet felt his smile falter. "Hey, you all right?" Li pulled him closer, fingers digging into the fabric of his tunic. "Come on, Li, you're freaking me out a-"

"I forgot the hawk," Li rasped.

Jet swallowed through the lump that had formed in his throat. "What?"

"I forgot to send the hawk."

Jet told himself he'd known something like this might happen. He'd known Li was having a bad night, that he might be distracted. It didn't mean anything. It was just a stupid mistake. "It's okay," he said. "You're here, now. That's what matters, right?" Hitching up the corners up his mouth again, he said, "How's it going down there, Ping?"

"Almost," Ping muttered.

"Jet, I'm sorry," Li whispered. "I'm sorry, this is all my fault."

"Li…"

"It won't happen again. I'll never let it happen again. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I mean, I was, but…" He buried his face even closer, hugging Jet so hard that it hurt. "I was thinking about the wrong things. My head just…it's all too much, and I can't…I don't know-"

"We'll talk about it later, okay?" said Jet. He couldn't handle this right now. "Let's just worry about getting out of here."

Another click, and Jet felt the first cuff give way. Relief washed over him in a dizzying flood. Ping knew what he was doing. In a few minutes Jet would be free, and then the worst of this mess would be over.

Ping had just set to work on the next cuff when Jet heard it: a shout, and then the pound of feet on metal floors somewhere above them, much too fast and much too close.

Li pulled away, finally, his hand moving to the hilts above his left shoulder. Ping swore, which Jet had never heard him do, then rose up out of his crouch.

"We have to go," he said.

Li and Jet both stared at him for a moment in confused silence. "But you're not done," said Li. "Jet's still-"

"The locks are all different," said Ping with a cold, exhausted certainty. "I won't be able to open them in time."

"But…you have to at least try!" said Li, no longer bothering to keep his voice low. "We can't just _leave_ him here!"

"There's nothing else I can do."

If there had been any doubt before that moment, now Jet knew for certain: they were under Lake Laogai. Ping had told them what happened here, what the Dai Li did to people and what remained when they were finished. He felt his throat close, felt his heart leap into a frenzy of panicked beating. He couldn't control his blood and breath, but he could force his features to behave, and he twisted them into something like confidence. "Li, don't worry. I'll be fine. Just…" He swallowed again. "Just go with Ping, okay? We'll figure something out."

"No."

"Li, we don't have _time_ for this shit," Jet hissed, losing even the veneer of calm. "Just get out of here!"

But Li's mouth was set in a thin, straight line that Jet had seen before, a line there was no arguing with. His eyes flickered over the chains and cuffs still holding Jet to the wall. "You brought a rock with you?" he asked, suddenly terse and grim. Ping held out an upturned hand, where a small, smooth stone rested — probably what he'd used to pick the locks. Li's mouth went even thinner as he reached for the chain attached to Jet's right arm, holding it both his fists. "When I say, hit the place between my hands."

Li had moved so that Jet couldn't see what he was doing. But Jet didn't have to see. He could feel the heat as it rose and crested, watched the light in the cell melt from green to red.

"Now," said Li. Two strikes, and Ping was through, Jet's arm swinging down to hang limply at his side.

Most of the blood had drained out of his hands, so he clenched and unclenched his fist, flexing his long fingers. He didn't watch as Li moved on to the next chain; his eyes were on his own arm as he lifted it away from the wall and held it out in front of him. The broken links glowed with heat. The same heat Jet could feel washing over his left hand; the heat that radiated from between Li's fists.

Later, he would wonder how he'd stayed so calm; how he could stand there rubbing the feeling back into his arms, gauging his own exhaustion — how fast he'd be able to run, how well he'd be able to fight if it came to that. He wasn't stupid, nor was he naive. He knew what was happening, knew what that heat meant. But he couldn't think about it. He couldn't think about any of it yet.

"Now," said Li, a third and final time. When he stood, the grim stubbornness was gone. His task finished, he looked boyish and uncertain, hands moving restlessly over his thighs, as if he didn't know what to do with them once their secrets had been laid bare.

They stared at each other for what must have been seconds but felt like hours. The truth had torn a hole too large for any words to fill; a gaping, hungry silence that swallowed up anything Jet might have thought to say. What could he say, in the face of this? What answer did he have for the broken chains that dangled from his wrists, or for the stranger that stood in front of him, wearing the face of someone he'd loved?

"Jet," Li whispered, cutting down into something deep and irrational, the protective core that knew this tone so well, that knew how scared Li was, could hear the crease in his brow and the tension in his shoulders. Jet's fingers twitched, ready to comb through the tangles of Li's hair, to push it back from Li's forehead so he could kiss that crease away.

But he could feel the heat that rolled over his skin in dry, merciless waves. He could feel it, and he knew. He would always know.

When Li reached for him, the answer came of its own accord.

"Don't you fucking touch me." Jet heard his own words as if from a distance, as if someone else was saying them. Li recoiled, but that brought Jet no relief from the pressure building in his skull or the relentless pounding of his heart against his ribs.

Another shout, no more than fifty feet away. Li pulled his mask back on, over the hurt so maddeningly plain on his face. "I'll distract them," he said.

Then he was gone, footsteps and voices fading as they followed him.

oOo

Somehow they made it to the surface, broken chains rattling against ladder rungs as Jet climbed toward the circle of sky. He remembered very little of their flight through underwater corridors; even less about what happened afterward. Once they'd crossed into the city, familiarity and habit took over. Ping sped them along the network of sewers as quickly as stealth would allow, riding a stone sledge with Jet crouched behind him. Jet gripped the sharp edges harder than he needed to, staring straight ahead and saying nothing.

Ping didn't bother with the formality of knocking. He bent them both up through the kitchen floor, liquid stone coursing around them. Usually Jet found that sort of thing disorienting, but tonight he barely noticed.

Harder to ignore were Jin's arms around his neck. And then her voice, worried and exhausted as she asked about _him_ — where he was and why he wasn't with them — the same questions over and over again, the same name that drove into Jet's skull like something sharp and dangerous. Soon the name was all he heard, the rest blurring together into a meaningless hum, too hard to make out above the sound of blood in his ears.

He stumbled past her and into the main room, vaguely aware of Ping's quiet voice answering her. No one else tried to talk to him. It was late, and the canvas halls were empty.

He pushed the hangings aside and a shaft of lamplight fell across Smellerbee and Longshot's faces, close together on the rough pillow. Smellerbee blinked sleepily, one hand coming up to shield her eyes. She said his name, and Jet opened his mouth to answer. It took several tries before anything came out.

"Bee," he rasped, the most he could manage. The pressure kept building, throbbing in his temples.

She understood, as she always did — she had known him for most of her life. "Longshot," she murmured, shaking the other boy's thin shoulders.

Blankets were pushed aside, and then she was taking Jet's hand as Longshot yawned behind her. "Let's go outside," she said.

Jet followed as she pulled him toward the front door. He watched her push the bar aside, wishing she would move faster. He felt like his head would split. He could feel the scream clawing up his throat.

The night air brought no relief or clarity. He struggled to focus on Smellerbee's face as she took him by the shoulders and frowned up into his eyes. "Jet, what happened?" she asked quietly. "Where's Li?"

Jet shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut. His legs were trembling too badly to hold him up anymore, so he slumped down to his knees, his palms flat on the hard, smooth stone.

Smellerbee crouched in front of him, still holding his upper arms. "Did something happen to Li?"

"He's…" Jet tried to get the words out but they choked him, cut off his air and made his head swim. He couldn't say it. He tried but he couldn't say it, and as he tried his heart beat harder and the roar grew louder until it was all he could hear.

He felt himself scream. Thin arms wrapped around him, a small hand on the back of his head, but he couldn't stop. He screamed until his throat was raw and he lacked the breath to go on; until he could _hear_ it, echoing through the alleyways and out over the dying city.

Then he dropped his head to her shoulder, the cloth damp against his face. "I'm sorry," she said, though she couldn't have known. She probably thought he was dead.

Maybe that would have been better.

oOo

Zuko knew he would have to knock eventually. He'd been sitting on the squat, metal box where they kept their coal for at least a quarter hour, staring at the kitchen door. Someone must have noticed him by now. They were probably wondering why he hadn't knocked already, given the state he was in — dusty and bedraggled, his arms and hands covered with scratches, a puffy bruise rising on his cheek. He was exhausted, limbs heavy with an aching weariness that went through to his bones. All he wanted was to peel the clothes from his body and spend the next hour soaking in hot water, then crawl into bed with Jet curled up beside him.

But that wasn't what would happen. Zuko knew better than to hope Jet might be asleep already, or that their talk would wait any longer than the time it took him to climb the stairs to their room. Jet wasn't patient on the best of days. He was probably waiting in the kitchen right now, chin resting on laced fingers and hazel eyes locked on the door. He would want an explanation, and Zuko certainly owed him one — and an apology, as well, for having kept so crucial a secret for so long.

He still didn't know what or how much he should say. How much he _could_ say to Jet without breaking the thread that connected them. He knew this first truth was nothing compared to what followed, but he would have to say something, about who he really was and what had brought him to the city. After what had happened under Lake Laogai, he couldn't put it off any longer.

Two short and four long, then he waited with his arms folded as a chair was pushed back from the kitchen table and soft footsteps padded across the slate floor. Too soft to be Jet. Zuko's shoulders fell even before the peephole cover slid aside.

"You came back." Jin's eyes were red, the skin under them more shadowed than ever.

"Of course I did," said Zuko.

The door opened, but Jin didn't move to let him pass. She slipped through the gap and shut it behind her, then leaned back against it, her palms flat on the wood. Zuko shifted his weight from one foot to the other, watching her gaze flicker from the cobbles to the front of his shirt and back again, unable to think of anything to say.

"Ping told me," Jin murmured.

Zuko remembered the family he'd met on the plains — the messy-haired boy who spoke so fondly of his brother, the parents who'd offered a hungry stranger a place to stay. He remembered the fight with the Earthbender in the town square, the boy pushed behind his terrified mother, Zuko's gift rejected and his kindness forgotten. _Not this,_ he thought. _Please, not this again._

"I won't hurt you," he said, silently pleading with her to believe him.

Jin's eyes snapped up to his, then, brow furrowed and lips parted in surprise. She looked hurt, though Zuko couldn't see how that made any sense. "I know that, Li," she said. "Of course you won't."

But she didn't open the door. She stayed where she was, blocking it with her body.

"I won't hurt anyone else, either," he said slowly, unsure what she expected of him.

"I know."

"Then why are we still out here?"

Jin looked away again, this time focusing on the toes of her shoes. He could see her face had flushed beneath her bangs. "Li, things are complicated right now," she whispered. "Maybe you should find someplace else to stay."

"What?"

Her hands slid together behind her, her shoulders hunched up toward her ears. "Just for a little while."

"But…I have to talk to Jet," said Zuko. He hated how foolish and desperate he sounded, but he couldn't help himself. He knew how Jet could be, what would happen if he was left with too much time to stew on his own. "I have to explain."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Zuko ran his fingers through his filthy hair, matted with lake water and mud. "Jin, I know he's upset, but I have to talk to him."

"I really think you should wait," said Jin, slow and measured, her careful neutrality only tightening the knot in his gut.

Zuko looked past her, not at the door but at the building itself, the green plaster walls and shuttered windows, the low gables roofed in terra cotta tiles. Months of hard use and overcrowding had left it patched and worn, but Uncle would have liked it that way. He always wanted things to look lived in, often saying a building's soul lay in the people who dwelled there. It would have made him happy to know his teashop had become a home for so many, the only refuge left in a city ground down by war.

But the door wasn't going to open for him tonight. And though he tried to push the truth of it out of his head, to pretend he didn't know why they were standing in this alleyway instead of sipping tea in the kitchen, there was no denying it. "Did he tell you not to let me in?" he asked, to give her one last chance to tell him he was wrong.

"Li…"

Zuko felt his face contort, his hands balled into fists as he kicked the metal coal bin with all the strength he had left, hard enough to leave a dent. "What happened to 'every man has his secrets'?" He knew he shouldn't yell, that it might attract the worst kind of attention, but he couldn't stop. The hot, churning mess in his stomach had nowhere else to go. "Was that just bullshit? Does it only count if you're from the fucking Earth Kingdom?"

"Li-"

"What the _hell?!_"

Jin bit her lip, eyes still on the ground. "This is different."

"_How?_"

"Li, they…" Jin looked back through the peephole, as if to check if anyone was listening. When she went on, her voice was barely loud enough to hear. "You know what happened to his family."

"I didn't do that!" he snapped.

"I know, but-"

"That had nothing to do with me!" But even as he said it he knew it wasn't true. Not completely. The anger drained from him as quickly as it had flared, leaving him with a cold, empty feeling in his chest. "Jin, just let me talk to him," he whispered.

"I can't."

"Please. Just open the door."

"Li, I'm sorry," she said, and despite the present circumstance he believed her. None of this was her fault.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to concentrate. "There's a bag in the kitchen," he said. "Under the sink, behind some crates."

Jin nodded. She raised her mouth to the level of the peephole and said, "It's all right, Ping." Then she disappeared inside, leaving Zuko alone in the alley. He sat back down on the coal bin and waited.

When she came out again, she held the bag in one hand and a cloth-wrapped box in the other, the fabric knotted carefully into a handle at the top. "This should be enough for lunch and dinner," she said.

He hated being pitied this way, but he was too hungry and exhausted to turn down charity. "Thanks," he said dully, standing again to take them both from her.

"Just a couple of days," she said, her attempt at a smile only making everything worse.

"Sure," said Zuko. He shouldered the bag and tucked the box under one arm. He imagined he could feel her eyes on him as he turned and walked away.

oOo

Jet sat with his back to the front door, swords laid out on either side of him and hands splayed over the hilts. Longshot was in the curtained-off corner that passed for an infirmary, helping Xue Sheng with the last of round of stitches, but Smellerbee had stayed close by. Jet was glad for that, as much as he could be glad of anything that day.

He watched as Jin ducked out of the kitchen and crossed the room, stopping a few feet in front of him. "He's gone," she said. He could tell she was angry, but he didn't care. He crossed his arms and glared up at her, waiting for her to say whatever it was she felt she needed to. "He looked terrible."

"Good."

"He must have swum across that lake," she said. "He was by himself. He must have climbed the wall bare-handed and walked all day to get back here." Jet had no answer for that, which seemed to make her even angrier. Her whole body started to shake. "You could have at least talked to him."

"I don't talk to Fire Nation," said Jet. "I kill them."

A tear slid down Jin's cheek, even as her hands curled into trembling fists. "Don't say things like that," she whispered, hoarse with quiet fury. "He's still Li."

"Li's dead," said Jet. Smellerbee tensed beside him, but he didn't move. He held Jin's bright, wet gaze, his face as hard and cold as he could keep it, like a shield held between them. "Li died under that lake."

Jin crumpled as if he'd slapped her, her face white and shining as she turned and ran for the shelter of her own, small square of the room. The canvas hangings did little to muffle the sound of her sobs.

When Smellerbee spoke her voice was low, too soft for anyone but him to hear. "We don't know everything," she said.

Jet pushed himself to his feet and hung his swords on his belt. "I know enough."

oOo

Jet wasn't going to let this beat him. He was still the leader of the Freedom Fighters. He was still in control. He would get up every morning and do whatever he had to, fight whatever battles stood between them and their liberty. He had more important things to worry about than some traitor, more important things to do than feeling sorry for himself.

He had stayed in the courtyard with Smellerbee for a long time, struggling to put himself back together again, to reassemble the broken bits and pieces of the face he had to wear. By early morning he had come back inside, and after that he'd kept himself as busy as he could, stopping only to let Ping remove the cuffs from his wrists and ankle. But for a hour or so of unconsciousness, he'd been awake for over a day, half of it spent running or fighting or both. By the time night fell he was too exhausted to put off sleep any longer, his vision starting to blur.

"You can stay with us," Smellerbee murmured, and Jet wanted very badly to accept. But that would have been a surrender, a concession he wasn't willing to make. So he shook his head, thanked her, and went to climb the narrow stairs that lead up to the store room. _His_ room, he told himself as he opened the flimsy door.

He'd brought a lantern with him, which he hung from a nail in the rafters. He went to the bed and forced his legs to bend, to lower his body down onto the thin mattress. But as soon as he'd done it, he knew it had been a mistake. The smell of the sheets, the feel of them against the bare skin of his palms, was too much for him to take. He jerked away as if he'd been burned, stumbled across the narrow space and slid down the opposite wall, crammed between the shelf and the door, his knees pulled tight against his chest so his feet wouldn't touch the bed.

Beside and just above him, a neat pile of armor gleamed in the lamplight.

He saw it all at once, a sudden flood of memory that threatened to drown him. All the lies he'd been told, lies he should have seen through from the start, a long string of vague stories about a childhood in some distant city, vaguer explanations for how he'd learned to fight, how he'd come to know so much about messenger hawks and troop movements and the moods of Fire Nation generals. Candles and stoves all lit too quickly, bath water that stayed hot for too long, a mouth and body that were always so warm, always burning with their own heat — a heat Jet had never questioned, never thought about except to be grateful for it.

He remembered those long, thin fingers on his skin — fingers that could pull flame from the air, that could destroy whatever they touched. The same hands that threw men into burning houses and pulled children from their mothers, that left nothing behind them but ash and blackened bones

Jet ran from the room with a hand clamped over his mouth, holding it shut just long enough for him to reach the sink. He vomited until there was nothing left, then sat on the floor with his head between his knees, trying to steady his breath until the worst of the dry heaves passed and he could find the strength to stand again.

Smellerbee and Longshot were already asleep, but Longshot stirred as Jet lay down beside him. He mumbled a soft greeting and draped an arm over Jet's ribs, wiry and strong from a lifetime of notching arrows. Jet closed his eyes and listened to his friends breathe. He tried to imagine he could hear the forest as well, the rustling leaves and night birds of his boyhood in the trees. But he couldn't. All he could hear was the city, too many people too close together, packed between walls and trapped in small lives they would never be able to control.

"You okay?" Smellerbee mumbled, her words thick with sleep.

"I'm fine," said Jet.

He watched the sky through gaps in the shuttered windows, waiting for the dawn.

oOo

The windows of their old home were dark. Looters had pried the lamps off of the walls, and the door was slightly ajar, splintered where someone had forced it open. City air thick with dust and coal smoke had left a thin, black film on every surface, undisturbed for weeks, at least. Months, maybe. In a city abandoned by all who could afford to, there were better places to squat.

The spare rooms were empty of everything but the earthenware stove and the musty, rat-chewed carpet, which somehow made them feel even smaller. Zuko wrestled the window shutters closed, rust-covered hinges dissolving as they moved. A flick of his hand lit a small fire in the stove, just enough to see by as he settled down cross-legged on the floor.

His map was water-stained and torn along the edges, but still readable. Uncle had emerged from one of his secret old man meetings with it rolled up in his hand, and they'd used it on their journey across the plains toward Full Moon Bay. Their progress was marked in Uncle's handwriting, the elegant, flowing characters what one would expect of royalty. Now Zuko traced his fingertips along the wrinkled paper, following the narrow strip of land that stretched across the water. Here it looked deceptively straight and smooth, inked lines offering no hint of the jagged peaks that stood there. He'd seen them himself, standing on the deck of a ferry with a strange boy beside him, a stalk of wheat quivering in the breeze.

The city wasn't the point of this map, its usefulness ending at the curve of the first wall. Beyond that, only the most general details had been added, a series of undulating rings nested within each other, the palace an unadorned box in the center, a shapeless blue pool standing in for Lake Laogai. Ba Sing Se was an island, a country all its own, connected to the rest of the continent out of necessity rather than desire. Now it fought the war in miniature, battles won and lives lost in in the narrow, twisting streets, the minutia important only to those who lived there. The rest of the world wasn't watching anymore. The Earth Kingdom had already fallen, after all — who cared about a gang of hungry kids who didn't know when to give up?

_That had nothing to do with me._ In the alleyway he'd felt foolish, aware of how absurd a thing it was for the Fire Lord's son to say. But then, so much of his life was absurd; had been that way for a long, long time. Here in this crumbling tenement, it was easier to step back from himself, to see how he must look from the outside. A banished prince, chasing rumors up and down a foreign coastline, his life narrowed to a quest no one believed he would ever complete. On the cusp of miraculous success, even that had been taken away from him — pushed aside by a career-minded buffoon looking for glory, doubly condemned by his father, his little sister sent to drag him home in chains.

Zuko had known it was her from the moment he saw that great, gaping hole in the wall. Of course she was behind it. Of course she'd found some way to do what three generations of Fire Lords had failed to manage, had discovered the trick to turning her enemy against itself, a snake eating its own tail as she watched and waited for a chance to finish it off.

In the days after the walls came down, while the others had gone out on their own, urgent business, Jet had suggested he stay behind at the Jasmine Dragon, ostensibly to keep an eye on things. Embarrassed at being so transparently shaken and feeling an unforgivable coward, Zuko had nonetheless done as he was told. If Azula had known he was in the city, she would have been looking for him, and Zuko wouldn't be the one to lead her back to their home.

But he needn't have worried, it seemed. Once Azula had plucked the city from the Earth King's grasp she had lingered only a few days more, her missing brother unremarked upon. No wanted posters had appeared. No one had ever tried to find him. In months of battle, not one of the soldiers he'd fought had recognized his face, even in full daylight. Not once had anyone mentioned his name.

Zuko tugged open his little pouch of tea and held it under his nose, taking long, deep breaths of jasmine — the scent of his uncle, his own bed in the attic, the clothes Jet kept between the cannisters. It calmed his racing heart a little, but with that calm came a terrible, unwanted clarity.

His old life had already forgotten him. And now his new one was determined to do the same.

It would be easy to let them, a welcome relief after so many years of fighting. He could stay here, safe if not particularly comfortable, and wait for Uncle's return, one nameless refugee among thousands. No one else would come for him; the only person who'd even know where to look had made his intentions clear.

But Zuko knew he couldn't do that. He knew he'd rather die than fade away.

Jet had spoken, sometimes, of his youth spent on the edge of things, king of his tiny corner of the world. Years of struggle, and what had they done? Discouraged a few battalions that always came back, protected one small valley from the worst of the war, only to sacrifice it later in a desperate bid for real progress. Jet had come to Ba Sing Se looking for a new life, and instead he'd found a new cause. One he had some hope of winning, however small that hope might be.

Jet hated the city, but he never spoke of leaving. The few times someone had suggested he go back to the forest, he'd said "That's not where I'm needed right now," and that had been the end of it. The forest would always be his home, but _this_ was where could make a difference. _This_ was where he could do something that mattered.

Xi Mian Bay was beyond the reach of his map, but Zuko knew precisely where it would have been — a few inches to the left of the parchment's edge, a few more down, a harbor too small and rocky to support more than a scattering of fisherman's houses. In his old life, he'd had to know such things. In his old life, he would have been on the way there already, the Avatar his only thought, the rest of the world and its suffering a gray, flat background of no consequence to him.

He closed his eyes, hand tightening around the pouch of tea. His mind and his heart were an exhausted mess, conflicting desires all tangled up into a knot he couldn't begin to unravel. He didn't know what was right anymore. He didn't know what he wanted.

But he knew what he would do. Jet had been right about one thing, at least: Zuko would go where he was needed.

oOoOo


	4. Pieces Scattered Everywhere

oOoOo

The Jasmine Dragon wasn't that big — before the war came to Ba Sing Se, Jet had been able to cross the main room with a few, long strides. Now that space was home to several dozen almost-soldiers, and the distance between the kitchen and the corner where his friends slept took a quarter-hour to navigate.

His feet hadn't even reached the gold-and-green carpet when he felt someone tug at the back of his shirt. Roo, a runner, one of Jin's early finds. He glanced down at her, automatically dredging up the details of her history. Her parents had been away visiting relatives when the city was sealed off, and her grandfather had been killed by a Fire Nation soldier who wanted his hogchicken for dinner. Jet couldn't see the burn scar that covered most of her back, but he knew it was there. "Hey," he said, careful to smile.

"Jet, there's a squirrelmouse!" said Roo, hopping nervously from one foot to the other. "Su Dao found it in the pantry, and I said he should put it outside but he thinks he can train it to carry messages like a hawk, and he's been sleeping with it in his hammock but then it jumps around at night and keeps us all up." She paused to take a breath. "And he said not to tell you but he keeps snitching nuts from the pantry to feed it."

Jet concentrated on his smile, making sure it reached his eyes. "Tell Dao if he wants a pet, he has to feed it from his own share."

Two more steps, and a boy with one eye missing slipped out from between the canvas hangings: Yan Jing, a butcher's son from the outer ring whose kills were neat and quick. "One of Wang's swords broke during practice this morning." He kept his eyes down, old enough to be cautious. "She'll need another one, but…"

Jet felt his grin begin to slip a little, and covered it by running a hand back through his hair. Xiao Si Wang had been a particular favorite of _his_, the scar on her face a point of some sympathy between them. "Smellerbee's in charge of the armory, now," said Jet, understanding perfectly the awkward, unasked question. He couldn't quite keep the edge out of his voice. "She'll take care of it."

He made it around the last corner and past the front door without interruption, but in the final stretch he heard someone else call out his name. He didn't turn, only stopped and waited for Dusty to catch up. The smile had faded to something like a grimace, so he dropped it entirely. Dusty was a team captain — he shouldn't need to be coddled.

"I don't think Gen's up for going on tonight's raid," he said, speaking to the back of Jet's head. "He still gets dizzy when he stands up, and Xue Sheng's not sure the wounds won't open again."

"Tell Wang to stay close to him, then."

"But-"

"He's been off his feet since the Eastern Gate," Jet snapped, still not turning around. "If he can't pull his fucking weight he can find somewhere else to sleep."

He ducked into what passed for Longshot and Smellerbee's room and yanked the canvas flaps closed behind him, cutting off whatever else Dusty might have said. Not out of any real anger, though Dusty would probably take it that way. Jet simply didn't have the words left in him, for Dusty or anyone else.

He sat down on the thin, patched futon, his breath fast and shallow as he rested his forehead on his knees. He could still hear it: the inescapable buzz of a roomful of anxious whispers. Sometimes an argument or excited shout would rise up from the hum, only to be shushed out of prominence again. Jet covered his ears with his hands, tried to concentrate on the the soft rumble of his pulse and the faint creak of bones in his wrists.

He'd expected the first couple weeks to be hard, and they had been. He woke each morning from a few hours of shallow sleep and stared at the rows of hammocks above him. Smellerbee and Longshot were usually still asleep, and he would turn his head to watch them, matching his breath to the rise and fall of their chests in the thin light of dawn. Theirs was the only company he sought, the only conversation that didn't exhaust him. The others had started to blur into a wall of tired faces, looking to him for that spark of hope they all craved. But Jet didn't have one anymore, neither for them nor for himself.

Li had made a mockery of his life, of everything he had thought he was trying to do. He'd been wrong about Li — dangerously, sickeningly wrong. And that had called everything else into question, robbed him of the certainty that had driven him for as long as he could remember. All that remained was a grim list of necessities that never seemed to shorten, every day a struggle to hang onto what little they had left.

Every morning he thought, _Why do this to yourself?_ The answer was always the same, always just enough: _Someone has to. No one else will._

Some time later the canvas parted again, and Smellerbee ducked through to sit beside him. He knew it was her without having to look up — from the way she moved, and because no one but her and Longshot would dare intrude like this.

"It's almost dinner," she said quietly.

Jet removed his hands from his ears, but didn't lift his head. "Not hungry," he mumbled.

"That's what you said at breakfast."

"I wasn't hungry then, either."

She sighed. "The raid tonight's gonna be tough. You'll need your strength."

"I'll be fine."

"If you faint on me I'm leaving you behind."

"If you have to."

He heard her snort in irritation, but she wouldn't push him further. She knew better than to try. "I talked to Ping," she said, changing the subject instead. "He thinks we should pull Dusty off the first wave. Have him back up Wang and Gen instead."

Jet lifted his head, mostly so he could shake it. "You're good, Smellerbee, but you can't take out ten guards by yourself. Not without them raising an alarm."

Jet knew what she would say next and braced himself for it, willing her to drop this shit for once and just do what they'd agreed on. Which had never worked before, of course, and didn't work now. "Jet, you know half those guards won't be there," she said. "There's no point in-"

"There're ten guards assigned to that warehouse," said Jet icily. "So we'll _plan_ for ten guards." He turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed in challenge. "Unless you have something you wanna tell me?"

She stared him down for a long time, black eyes boring into his. But eventually she sighed and looked away. "Fine. Waste Dusty's time if it makes you happy."

"I will, thanks."

"You wanna pretend like nothing's going on, you go right head."

"Nothing _is_ going on."

"Why, because you _say_ so?" she snapped, one step farther than she'd let herself go before.

Jet's fists clenched around handfuls of bedding. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

Smellerbee made a sharp, sweeping gesture that took in the canvas walls. "Don't _you_?"

Jet looked down at his knees, jaw so tight he felt his teeth might shatter, his eyes fixed and unblinking and his ears full of the sound of his own blood. Still, he heard Smellerbee sigh, felt her hand rest lightly on his shoulder. He didn't shrug her off, and they sat that way for some time, neither one of them speaking. Finally he blew out a long, slow breath and pushed himself to his feet.

Someone had to. No one else would.

oOo

The raid was a shitty situation however you looked at it; it promised all the things Jet hated most about this fucking war in this cursed hole of a city. They'd be fighting indoors in close quarters, against an unknown number of Firebenders — those who'd been assigned to tanks were now mixed in with the infantry. The runners would be involved, which meant Jet and the other soldiers would have to protect them as well as watching their own backs. They'd be relying on civilians, who usually meant well but crumpled under pressure. Ping seemed sure the Dai Li would be keeping an eye on the place, and Jet supposed he would know. The Freedom Fighters only _had_ six benders, Ping included, to hold off whoever decided to show. A shitty situation all around, but Jet didn't see how they had much of a choice.

Ba Sing Se was a massive city, home to hundreds of thousands of half-starved people. Jet's men could steal enough rice to keep the poorest of them alive, but distributing it themselves was impractical — they didn't have the numbers or the time, and it left them too exposed. Luckily, Jin had devised a clever compromise. The middle ring housed several large dry goods stores, the sort of place she'd gone as a child to buy tea and cloth. Some of the owners had stayed behind, reluctant to abandon their property to the Fire Nation, and Jin had persuaded a few of them to act as middlemen. They made sure the rice got to the people who needed it, and in return, the Freedom Fighters protected them from the worst of the occupation.

Tonight, Jet waited in the largest of these massive stores, crouched beside a window that faced the warehouse behind it. The Fire Nation had seized control of it three days ago, and Jet doubted they'd be generous to the peasants when their own men were going hungry. Two thirds of the food the resistance had scraped together sat on the shelves of that warehouse, more than they could afford to lose if they hoped to live through the winter.

Jet sighed. Who was he kidding? They'd be lucky if they _made_ it to winter, the way things had been going.

He'd sent the owner out front with a broom, telling him to go about his usual business of closing up for the night. Now he and Longshot watched for signs of movement, swords in hand and bow half-drawn, ready to burst out into the yard if things went bad. This raid was a desperate one, and all of them knew it. The Eastern Gate had destroyed any illusions they might have harbored about reclaiming territory, let alone holding it. They'd have to move the rice, by hand and all at once, and this would be their only chance to try.

Smellerbee and Dusty were nearly at the door before Jet saw them, running low and silent through the shadows cast by street lamps. Jet opened the door just wide enough for them to slip through, and soon the four of them were crouched in a circle on the dusty wooden floor.

"Any problems?" Jet asked.

"No," said Smellerbee. "Fast and easy." She met his eyes and scowled. "There were only four guards left." The rest she didn't say, but Jet knew all the same.

At first he'd been able to ignore the signs — a few expected guards mysteriously absent the night of a raid, or a handful of enemy solders that went missing in the middle of a fight. But this he couldn't explain away, and Smellerbee had made it clear she was tired of letting him try. Only four guards left, he knew, because the other six had been knocked out, bound and gagged before she and Dusty could get to them.

"Wang and Gen just signaled," she went on, her point having been made. "Patrols are taken care of. We're good for ten minutes. Maybe fifteen."

The Earthbenders were already inside the warehouse, and once Jet's group was through the door Ping sealed it shut behind them. Four of the other benders were lifting bales of rice down off the shelves with thin palettes of stone, pairs working in sync to guide each one through the air. Ping and his lieutenant moved to face each other at the center of the room, bare feet set wide on the earthen floor. They took a deep breath, raised their splayed hands until they were at eye-level, then thrust them down in a sharp, powerful motion that opened a gaping, black tunnel in the ground between them.

Jet watched with one eye still on the rock-sealed door as the first runners climbed up out of the hole, Roo at the lead, and headed straight for the waiting stacks of rice. He hated that it had to be this way, that he was bringing these kids anywhere near a fight. They weren't like The Duke, or like he'd been when he was their age — city life had left them soft by his standards, and this plan had been born from a sorry lack of options. A wagon on the street wouldn't make it three blocks; a stone sledge underground would be pathetically easy for the Dai Li to track. That left the runners or nothing at all.

Smellerbee, Longshot and the other fighters had already moved to help, easily lifting the bales up onto the younger kids' backs. Soon a steady stream of runners flowed in and out of the tunnel, shuffling down red-faced with strain only to jog right back up again a minute or so later, ready to pick up their next load. But the math had never looked good: thirty-two runners, over two hundred bales of rice, a city full of Firebenders that didn't want them taking it back.

Ping moved away from the bustle of activity and crouched down, sinking his fingers into the dirt. He frowned, and Jet went to stand beside him.

"How close?" Jet asked.

"Hard to say," said Ping. "We don't have much time." He gestured to his men as he straightened, and three of them took up positions along the warehouse walls, eyes closed and palms against the plaster. The last two — the weakest, Jet noted, scrawny young chickens who drowned in their armor — kept lifting rice down from the shelves.

"Get ready," said Jet, eyes flickering between the benders..

Smellerbee, Wang, Jing and Dusty broke off from the group of runners, drawing their knives and swords as they formed a circle , their backs to each other. Longshot climbed a half-empty shelf, notching his first arrow as soon as he'd reached the top. The rest of the soldiers formed a loose perimeter around the stacks of rice.

This was the part Jet hated the most: the waiting. But it didn't last long.

"They're here," said Ping. The words had barely left his mouth when the first tremor hit, rattling the empty wooden shelves.

"Time to go!" Jet called, praying the runners wouldn't freeze. They didn't, though their eyes were white with panic as they scrambled to fasten their final loads in place. All six benders were at the walls now, fingers and toes sunk knuckle-deep and faces twisted up with strain. Ping had told him this might happen, but it was an odd thing to watch all the same. Odd and a little terrifying. The Dai Li were trying to force their way in, and Ping's men were pouring their strength into the walls and floor, fighting to hold it all together.

"Too many," Ping grunted, sweat running down his forehead in thin streams.

Half the runners were still on the floor. They couldn't close the tunnel until it was clear. _Shit._ "Forget the rice!" Jet barked. "Get the hell out of here _now_!"

Kids poured down into the tunnel, tripping over the bales and each other, their guard close behind. Ping's lieutenant broke away from the wall, sprinted across the room and dove down after the last of the retreat, the ground swirling and spiraling shut like an iris. Underground, Jet knew, he was collapsing the tunnel, smoothing out layers of bedrock to hide any trace of their passing. But that kind of work took time. He'd need cover to finish it, or the Dai Li would pick up his trail.

The warehouse had started to shake, trickles of plaster dust falling from the rafters and ceiling. Some landed in Jet's hair, but he didn't brush it away. He backed up untill he stood between Smellerbee and Wang, watched as long cracks formed and spread along the walls.

"Can't," Ping gasped, and the south wall exploded.

Chalky dust billowed up into the air, instantly coating the back of Jet's throat, but through it he could see the first soldiers as they clambered over the rubble. Most were hit full in the chest by Longshot's arrows, knocked backwards by the force of the impact, blood trickling from their mouths. But the next group shoved their bodies aside and swarmed through the breach, too fast for Longshot to pick them all off, who knew how many more behind. Ping's benders had abandoned the perimeter, and Jet heard stone crashing together, above and to either side, as the Dai Li made their entrance. But he didn't look. His eyes were on the line of Fire Nation soldiers. None of them were armed.

Jet dove into the middle of them, blades flashing as he ducked under the flames, hooked an ankle and threw one soldier into another, smashed the spur at the end of his hilt into an armored temple, felt it push through metal and into flesh and bone. He planted a foot on the man's chest, kicked him away as he jerked his sword free, blood spattering his face, rich and warm on his lips. He licked them as he spun around, hooked a blade into the shoulder of a Firebender looming behind Wang, the flame in his hand dissolving as Jet yanked him backwards. The crescent blade at his knuckles sliced the man's neck open, clear through to the spine, the dirt floor turned to mud by gore as Jet ran to meet his next kill.

Then the ground erupted beneath him, tumbling his body through the air. He hit what felt like a wall and then the ground, landing shoulder-first, swords somehow still in hand but all the breath knocked out of him. Shards of stone were still raining down as he rolled to his feet, spit out a mouthful of blood and tried to get his bearings. He'd been thrown halfway across the warehouse, against the sealed-up doorway. Two Firebenders had already spotted him. He avoided the first attack but he could feel the flames on his back, smelled cloth and hair burning as he bobbed up again, swords crossed in front of him, ready to die on his feet, like he'd always imagined he would.

Later, he'd remember the next few moments in perfect detail, as if time had slowed to give him the chance to take it in. The Firebender was only ten feet away, the flame that boiled from his fist too wide and too fast for Jet to escape, still off-balance from dodging the blast before it. He had time to hope they'd finish him off, instead of dragging him away to die in some interrogation room. He wished he could have seen the forest again. He wished other things, too, that he couldn't bear to put into words.

But the fire didn't reach him. Something dropped from above, landing just in front of him. Some_one_ who broke the flames apart with twin blades, glanced over his shoulder and caught Jet's eye for an instant, his own wide and golden.

Jet wanted to be angry, and he was. Li had lied to him. Li was one of _them_, for fuck's sake. But as Jet stood there in the warehouse the anger was drowned in a flood of relief, an irresistible tide that pulled him back to before things had fallen apart, adrenaline-fueled currents of emotion swirling to the surface. Li crouched in front of him as he had a hundred times before, so close Jet could smell his hair and his sweat, dizzyingly familiar.

Another fireball, and this time Li juggled it between his blades, gathering it up and hurling it back again, forcing the soldiers to dodge their own flames. Jet knew what Li was doing but just then he couldn't care. Li moved away from the wall and Jet followed him, knocking stone projectiles from the air as Li turned more flames aside, the fire flowing around them like a river. It was all too easy to slip into the old rhythms, to let his body move as it wanted to, reading Li's movements and matching itself to them. No matter that the flame clung to Li's blades, curled around them like a living thing until he flung it back toward the soldiers. No matter that he shouldn't have known to be here at all.

"Time!" Ping barked, already on his way across the warehouse, a pair of Dai Li close behind, all riding waves of earth that rolled along the floor. Distracted, the Firebenders didn't see Li's blades until he'd rammed the blunt hilts into the backs of their skulls, dropping them just as Ping careened past. He hit the sealed door at full speed, tore the stone away and launched it back toward the Dai Li as Jet and Li sprinted out into the yard. Then Ping was behind them again, catapulting them up onto the rooftops with a well-timed column of stone and then following himself. This, at last, was comfortable territory, and the three of them ran easily along the sloping tiles, leapt across alleyways and scrambled over walls, splitting up for blocks at a time only to merge smoothly back together.

Li's movements were silent and fluid, his dark robes making more sound than his feet, every leap graceful and every landing solid and sure. Jet stayed a few strides behind, watching him. The night air and exercise cleared his mind, pushed the anger and confusion and worry aside until all that remained was the sky and the city and their bodies in between. It would be so easy to let this happen, allow Li to slip back into his life as if nothing had changed. A part of Jet wanted to, the same part that ached to sleep in his old bed and remembered how Li's mouth tasted in the morning. The part that wanted to reach out, even now, and touch the trailing edge of Li's sleeve. The stupid, blind, soft-hearted part that had believed him in the first place.

When Ping dropped down to the street again, Jet and Li followed without hesitation, the ground giving way beneath them as soon as they made contact. The room they found themselves in was a bare rectangle as wide as Jet was tall, lit by a cage full of luminescent crystal. One of the few bolt holes still undiscovered. They crouched beneath the low ceiling, holding their breath, waiting for the last of the night's trouble to pass overhead.

_Fuck, if only._

Jet watched Li from the corner of his eye, the calm of a few minutes before rapidly draining away as a sickening uneasiness rushed in to fill the void. He thought of the last time he'd seen Li's face like this, drawn with worry in the dim, green light. The last time he'd seen Li's face at all, back when life made some kind of sense, before a broken chain had turned it all on its head.

Li was always easy to read and damn near transparent when he was upset. He may as well have been shouting for all the subtlety he managed now. His eyes kept flickering sideways, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, his breath hitching. Without wanting to, Jet knew just what Li was thinking: that he was nervous, trying not to look excited but failing, happy but not sure he was allowed to be.

_No_. Jet tore his gaze away, shouting inside his own head. _No, you_ don't _know. You don't know anything about him at all._

Li stopped pretending not to stare, his expression shifting to something more intent. "You're hurt," he said softly, the first words Jet had heard him say in two weeks.

Jet reached up automatically, felt the tangle of singed hair and the raw, oozing burn on his neck. The place where the fire had come too close, caught him before he could pull away.

"Get me out of here," he said, struggling to keep his voice level.

Ping must have heard the panic in his tone, because he didn't argue. He bent a panel of stone out of the way, and as soon as it was wide enough Jet hauled himself through the opening, not caring that the edge scraped against his open wounds. At least the pain was exactly what it seemed to be.

He didn't turn around to watch Li climb out onto the street, though he could hear it well enough to know when Li was standing, the ground having closed behind him again once Ping had followed. Jet imagined he could feel Li reach out to him, his hand inches away from Jet's arm, his face pinched with worry. Pitying him, which only made Jet angrier, only planted his feet more firmly on the ground. "What the _fuck_ are you doing?" he snarled, with all the venom he could muster. "Why don't you just go back to the _Fire Nation_, huh? You fucking bastard, that's what you _wanted_ right? That's what that shit was all about!"

"Jet-"

"Why are you still _here_?!"

Jet expected hesitation, then. The hand would be drawn back, the eyes widened with hurt and confusion, mouth half-open as Li struggled to think of what to say. In his mind, that was how it went.

In the empty street above the bolt hole, there was no hesitation at all. "You asked me to stay," said Li, quiet but firm.

Jet turned in time to see his dark, lithe shape slip back onto the rooftops, black against indigo and just as quickly gone.

oOo

Looking back, Zuko was amazed he'd held out for so long.

At first he'd tried to think of it as a challenge, like the games he'd played with his sister and her friends when they were young. Back then his aims had been childish — spying on the Fire Sages and snatching the hats from courtier's heads — but the skills involved were much the same. How close could he get without being seen? How quickly could he dart between the shadows? It helped to pretend he stayed out of sight by choice, that nothing drove him but a desire to prove that he could.

Last night, Jet had shattered that illusion completely, splintered it into sharp little pieces that burrowed in under Zuko's skin. The venom in Jet's words had made their situation painfully clear, erased any doubt that Jin had been right to turn him away from the kitchen door. He wasn't a little boy playing at stealth — he was a man cast out of the only life still left to him. Banished all over again, this time without even the illusion of a path back to grace.

Still, it had been an exhilarating sort of destruction. Half a day later, Zuko's hands were still shaking as he tapped leaves into a battered pot. He'd seen Jet again. Not from a rooftop or shuttered window, but up close, inches apart as they'd fought and run and hunkered down together. Jet had ended it all in a storm of anger, but before then, in the thick of everything, Zuko had seen the way Jet looked at him. Jet's eyes had held the same hunger he felt in his own gut, the ache that tightened with every day they spent apart. He hadn't imagined it. He wasn't sure he _understood_ it, what it was or what it meant, but it had been there: a half-starved desire that mirrored his own.

Zuko found he couldn't stay still for very long, his body almost as frenetic as his thoughts. He jogged down the weathered steps of his building, filled a bucket with water from the communal well, and thought of how tired Jet had looked, dark smudges of blue under his eyes. Back in the apartment, he checked the shutters before conjuring a flame under the kettle, and wondered why the smell of Jasmine had faded from Jet's clothes. As drumming fingers counted out the time the pot of oolong had left to brew, he considered how the two changes might be related, and felt an odd little shiver at the answers his mind supplied.

When they finally knocked at the door, Zuko leapt across the room to answer it, rattling the teapot and cups he'd laid out.

Jin beamed at him from under the hood of her cloak. "We brought dinner," she said cheerfully, offering a lacquer box neatly wrapped in cloth. Xue Sheng hovered nervously beside her, a small earthenware pot in his hands, and Ping loomed behind them both. His face was hard to read in the shadow of his hood, but Zuko thought he looked even more somber than usual.

Zuko had gone scavenging in the other empty apartments, and one of his discoveries had been a low, three-legged table. A scrap of firewood and some inexpertly hammered nails had fixed it well enough to use, and the four of them sat around it now, cross-legged on the floor. Except for Zuko, who knelt as he poured the others tea with the neat, graceful movements his mother had taught him. The familiarity was soothing, however incongruous with his surroundings.

At first, the talk was all business: they'd only recovered about half the rice, but the runners had all made it back safely, and none of the injuries were fatal. No one knew what had happened to the shopkeeper and his family, or if the Fire Nation suspected their involvement. The rice would go to another dry goods store in the outer ring, one with a lower profile that might be overlooked.

Zuko listened to all of this attentively, but his fingers twisted themselves in the hem of his shirt. "Did he say anything?" he asked, as soon as Xue Sheng had finished with the details of their arrangements.

Jin sighed as she lifted the lid from the clay pot. "Not really," she admitted, pulling bowls toward her and spooning out portions of barley mixed with rice. "But Ping told me what you did." She smiled as she handed Zuko his share. "I'm sure he was happy to see you, Li. He's just confused, that's all. He'll get over it."

"'Confused' isn't the word I'd use," said Xue Sheng darkly.

"He's been fighting…the Fire Nation since he was a kid," said Zuko. He'd almost said "us," but after a night spent battling Firebenders that seemed a foolish way to look at it.

"You saved his life," Xue Sheng muttered. "Twice. You'd think he could at least say 'thank you.'"

"It's fine," said Zuko, staring down at the neat little pile of steamed greens Jin had served him. He pushed them around his cracked porcelain bowl, no longer particularly hungry "He just needs some time."

"I think he knows we've been coming to see you," said Jin. "He hasn't said anything, but I can tell."

Zuko sighed. "We knew he'd figure it out."

Ping had listened to all of this without comment, eating his dinner in small, methodical bites between sips of tea. With that last comment of Zuko's he lay his chopsticks across his empty bowl, rested his hands in his lap and said, "You realize the risk we take, speaking with you this way. The Fire Nation could ruin us if they knew half of what we tell you."

Zuko frowned. "I won't tell them. You know that. I'm just trying to help."

"I want to trust you, Li," said Ping. "Just as I want to trust Jet. You both appear to be honorable men." Zuko could hear the steel in his words. "But neither of you have been honest with us."

Zuko swallowed. He wasn't ready for this, not yet. Asking them to accept a Firebender was bad enough, but trusting the Fire Lord's son? "What do you mean?" he asked weakly.

"Two weeks ago, an Earthbender came to speak to you and Jet. You met with him in private, about matters you chose not to share with the rest of us. You began to act strangely, so much so that I was asked to keep an eye on you. A task I am sorry to have failed in so spectacularly."

Zuko grimaced. "Ping, you didn't-"

"Let me finish," said Ping. Zuko's mouth snapped shut. "That you left after what happened under the lake was not surprising. That you had a bag packed and waiting — one that Jin tells me wasn't there a few days before — was strange. What Jet said to you last night was even stranger. It implied some past conversation about your traveling to the Fire Nation, but I cannot imagine why you would have spoken of it before the lake. And I have witnessed every word the two of you have shared since."

Zuko blinked at him, his brain struggling to readjust. "Wait, you mean…he didn't tell you about the invasion?" The blank stares on all sides made it quite clear Jet had not, and Zuko had to bite back relieved laughter that _this_ was the mystery Ping wanted untangled.

Zuko explained as much as he knew, supplying all the details he could remember. Jin gasped a little at the news that the Avatar was still alive, but Ping's frown only deepened.

"You wanted to go," he said flatly once Zuko had finished.

Zuko felt his cheeks flush, but he nodded. Jin reached out to pat his forearm, her smile only a little unsteady. "You're not from the colonies, are you?" she said softly. "You just wanted to go home."

Zuko managed another stiff nod, skin burning still hotter.

"But you didn't," said Ping.

"No."

Zuko was ready for them to ask why, press for more details, but no one did. Zuko found was as grateful for that as he was for the dinner they'd brought, or the fact that they came to visit him at all.

Instead, Xue Sheng sniffed in disapproval. "It seems like a ridiculous plan to me," he said. "With the Earth King's armies they might have stood some chance, but now? Even if they make it to the capital, they'll never reach the Fire Lord."

"When is this invasion exactly?" asked Ping.

Zuko paused to think. "They set out from Xi Mian Bay a week ago," he said, doing the calculations in his head. He didn't have much experience on sailing ships, but it had once been his business to know what they could do. "They'll reach the capital soon. Five days. Maybe six, if the winds are bad."

Xue Sheng frowned, then pulled a roll of parchment out of his robes: a calendar, the summer months covered in his perfect scholar's handwriting. He pointed to a date midway through the seventh month, which he'd marked with a solid black circle. "We'd planned a party for that day," he said. "My friends and I at the University. We were going to climb one of the hills in the agrarian ring and watch from there."

"Watch what?" asked Jin patiently.

"Tell me something, Li," said Xue Sheng, slow and thoughtful. "What would happen to a Firebender if there were an eclipse? If the moon covered the sun completely, even for just a few minutes?"

"We draw energy from the sun," said Zuko, just as slow as he considered the question. "It's harder to bend at night. If the sun was blocked entirely? I don't know. We wouldn't be able to bend as well. Maybe…" He looked to Ping, his thoughts a whirl of implications. "Maybe not at all."

"Not such a ridiculous plan," Ping murmured.

"The eclipse will only last eight minutes," said Xue Sheng, keeping pace with the train of the thought. "That degree of coordination…"

"We would need to be precisely positioned," said Ping. "Once the window opened, we would have to move quickly. Decisively." He glanced at Zuko, who knew what he meant — it wouldn't be a night for mercy.

"We'd still have the Dai Li to worry about," said Xue Sheng.

"Which is why secrecy would be essential," said Ping. "We would have to keep most of the men in the dark as to our advantage."

"So they'd think they were going on a suicide mission," said Xue Sheng, sounding dubious.

"They'll do whatever Jet tells them to," said Zuko, quietly certain. "They believe in him." Jin laid her hand on his back, then, warm through his shirt. He didn't know why she'd done it, but he was grateful for the touch. He'd spent so much of the last two weeks alone.

Xue Sheng frowned as he pushed his spectacles up his nose. "You're assuming Jet will listen to _us_. He'll know it was Li's idea." Jin shot a glare in his direction but he went on, pretending not to notice. "Who else could have told us about the invasion?"

"Maybe if we explain it the right way," said Jin, cautiously hopeful.

"He'll do what's best for the city," said Zuko. He remembered standing on a roof with Jet's arm around his shoulder, a question answered with no hesitation: _This is my home, now. I'm not gonna turn my back on it._ His chest tightened a little with pride. "That's why he wanted to stay. So he could help."

"As things are," said Ping, "the resistance won't last through the fall." He crossed his arms, his head bowed. "What choice do we have but to try?"

"Then it's settled," said Jin. "We'll tell Jet about the eclipse. And about the plan. Well..." She laughed nervously. "As much of a plan as we have."

"What if he doesn't believe us?" asked Xue Sheng. "What if he says no?"

"He won't," said Zuko.

"But what if he _does_?"

"Then we'll have to reexamine our options," said Ping, in a tone Zuko didn't like at all.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that, then," said Jin. Her hand still on Zuko's back, she slid it up to squeeze his shoulder.

"I guess I'll just…wait here, then," said Zuko, suddenly awkward as he remembered his place in all this. After so many afternoons spent crowded around the kitchen table, Jet beside him as they poured over maps and argued the particulars of timing and team captains, it felt strange to be so wholly removed. But there was no denying the truth of things: he was no longer welcome at that table, and he had already done all he could.

After the others had left, Zuko cleared away the cups and dishes, lingering over them in the copper sink. He wanted something to do with his hands. But once he'd scrubbed even the imaginary dirt away and set them out to dry, he moved the crooked table into a corner and stretched out on his back in the middle of the floor. He closed his eyes, willing his muscles to unwind and his fingers to still on the capet. He tried to picture the meandering walk through alleyways that climbed to the upper ring, how the Jasmine Dragon might look in the afternoon sunlight he could still feel on his skin. He wondered what Jet would say, if the others would risk mentioning him at all, and how Jet would react if they did. He wondered if Jet had spent his nights like this, eyes on the ceiling as he drifted on uncertain currents. He hoped Jet would remember the lake and the warehouse and see not what Zuko _was_, but what he'd done. And maybe, however briefly, understand.

oOo

"No fucking way," said Jet. "Not in a million years."

Jin frowned, as if she'd somehow not expected this, which only irritated him more. "But-"

"Not if my fucking _life_ depended on it."

Jin blew a frustrated breath through pursed lips. "Jet, _please_, just think about-"

"I don't have to think about it. It doesn't take a lot of thought to say 'no' to any plan he's mixed up in."

"You didn't have a problem with his plans before!"

He flinched at that, which didn't improve his mood. "I learn from my mistakes."

Jin folded her arms across her chest, her expression growing more obstinate by the second. "You're being completely irrational about this."

"Let's just ignore the fact that you're having afternoon tea parties with a _Fire Nation traitor_," said Jet, lingering on the last few words. "How do you even know he's telling the truth? What if we build our whole battle plan around what he says, all depending on eight fire-free minutes, and it turns out he just made it all up? We'd be _fucked_, Jin. We can't take that kind of risk."

"But Xue Sheng-"

"Should stick to accounting and keep his nose out of shit he doesn't understand."

They were standing in the kitchen, Ping and Xue Sheng at the table, Smellerbee and Longshot by the door to the main room — closed, for once, to keep the kids out of this. Xue Sheng pinkened behind his spectacles, but Jin's indignation was unfazed. Her scowl fiercer than ever, she took another step forward.

"He's just trying to help," she said. "We're _all_ trying to help, and if you'd listen for once instead of acting so-"

"So _what_?" Jet snarled, drawing up to his full height.

Jin held her ground, her eyes bright and sharp with fury. "Crazy," she said. "This is _crazy_, Jet, and you know it."

The room froze, all eyes on him as fresh anger clouded his features.

"Maybe I am," he said, dangerously soft. "But I'd rather be crazy than dead. Don't come crying to me when you find a knife in your back."

Jin laughed, a harsh bark that had nothing to do with humor. "Oh, that's rich!" Ping looked at her sharply but she was too incensed to notice, her voice rising with every word. "That is _rich_ coming from you! Who threw who out on the street?"

"Jin," said Ping, a warning in his tone.

"Did you even think for one _second_ what it's been like for him? You horrible, selfish, stubborn, ungrateful-"

"That's _enough_," Ping snapped, and though Jin glared at him she cut herself short.

Jet wanted to shout back at her, wanted to shock that superior look off her face. He didn't let anyone talk to him this way, let alone some city girl who'd never held a sword. Who the hell was she to judge him? If she'd seen what he had, really _knew_ what those people were capable of, she'd understand. None of them could be trusted.

He looked away to where his friends waited by the door, faces grim and lips pressed into mute lines. Fuck, he was so tired of this. He was so tired of _everything_.

"I don't have to stand here and listen to this shit," he muttered.

He slouched past Jin, bumping her hard with his shoulder, and jerked open the dead-bolt on the kitchen door. No one followed him.

oOo

Laying on the roof of the Jasmine Dragon — his back along its straight, wooden spine, legs dangling and hands folded on his chest — Jet tried to focus on what was important.

He pictured the flames that had curled around Li's swords, searing red tendrils that followed his will. The same fire that had twisted itself in the roots of Jet's life, molded him into the man he'd become and forged the blade of his purpose. He had seen what that fire could do, knew better than anyone how ruthless it could be and how quickly it flared out of control, a wildfire that devoured everything. He'd pulled half-dead children from charred houses, too young to tell him their names. He'd watched soldiers brand their conquests, burning fingertips pressed into the skin of boys and women alike, the favorites taken along for later entertainment and the rest left to sift through the ashes of their villages. Jet had built an army from this human wreckage, knew their faces and their stories, had fought and bled and killed for all of them, all the years of his life. He'd done for them what he'd had to do for himself, orphaned and alone in the forest. The Fire Nation had taken everything from him.

Li was Fire Nation. Li was a _Firebender_. Jet whispered it to himself over and over again, the mantra barely more than a breath on his lips.

"Jet." Smellerbee's voice, only a few feet away. Jet lifted his head enough to see her and Longshot standing on the ridge of the roof, just visible over his ribcage. He sighed and closed his eyes, waiting for Smellerbee to walk past him on the tiles and settle down next to his head. He felt her fingers in his hair, ruffling it lightly. "You're a mess," she said.

"Looks like."

"Here, sit up," she said, tugging a little for emphasis. Jet didn't want to sit up, any more than he wanted to do much of anything, but he sighed and pushed himself upright. Longshot had taken a seat on his other side, watching them in his usual, quiet way. Jet managed half a smile, but it lasted only a moment before Smellerbee's fingers on his neck made him hiss in pain.

"You need to change these bandages," she said. "It'll get infected."

Jet tried to swat her hands away, grimacing. "Later."

"And your hair," she said, poking the burnt tangle at the nape of his neck. "You look ridiculous."

"Since when do you care about my hair?"

"Since you stopped." She pulled a short knife out of her belt and turned his head so he faced away from her. "Hold still."

Longshot's eyebrows lifted by a fraction, the left slightly higher than the right. "Not you, too," Jet muttered. Behind him, Smellerbee had started to work, gently pulling the melted knots of hair away from his scalp and cutting them off with her knife. The damage was worse than he'd thought — he'd hardly have any hair left in the back. "Why's this so important anyway?"

"You're our leader," she said quietly. "You should look the part."

Jet snorted. "Right."

"I'm serious." She worked her way around to the side, the flat of her blade grazing his ear. "No one's gonna listen to you if you look like a lunatic."

She finished with one sideburn, a lock of brown hair drifting down into this lap. Jet glowered at it. "No one listens to me anyway," he said. "A haircut's not gonna make a difference."

She sighed, her breath tickling a little. "Don't be stupid."

"I don't know why I even bother. If they wanna get in bed with the Fire Nation, why stop them?" He realized he was leaving himself wide open with that one, but Smellerbee was classier than that. Or maybe she knew it would be the end of their conversation. Either way, she only clucked her tongue as she trimmed around his ear. "What? You think I'm wrong?" When she didn't answer, he turned around to face her, brows drawn down in annoyance. "Smellerbee, he's-"

"I know what he is," she said. She reached up to his other temple, held a lock of hair taut between her fingers and cut it with a small, neat motion of the knife.

"If you've got something to say, just say it."

Another tuft of hair fell, tickling his cheek. "Jin and Xue Sheng are one thing," she said. "But Ping's no fool."

"And I am?"

She sighed again and dusted the hair off his shoulders. "Jet, I'm not gonna tell you what to do."

"Why not? Everyone else is." Jet shifted his scowl to Longshot. "What about you? You gonna tell me how to run my life, too?"

Longshot frowned, his shoulders sinking almost imperceptibly.

"And give him a chance to finish me off?" Jet ran a hand back through what was left of his hair, chuckling mirthlessly to himself. "Shit, I can't believe this."

"You know he won't hurt you," said Longshot, his voice soft and a little rusty with disuse. "Let him explain."

Jet ground the heel of his palm into his eye, rubbing away the sting. "What'll that help?"

He felt Smellerbee's hand on his back, gently brushing it clean. "It can't make things worse," she said. "Maybe it'll make them better."

Jet tilted his head back, stared up at the wide blue cloudless bowl of the sky and let himself feel it. _Really_ feel it in all the ways he'd tried not to, allowing himself to think what he still couldn't say out loud: he missed Li. Missed him so much it hurt to breathe. And he knew he didn't want to stop, even if he could.

"I hate this," he said.

"I know," said Smellerbee. She moved her hand in small, soothing circles.

"I hate _him._"

"You don't."

Jet looked out over the city, the rows of buildings that spiraled away from where he sat, descending into squalor as they went. He wondered where Li slept at night — if he slept at all, or if he also lay awake until dawn, wishing it all had gone differently.

"Maybe," he murmured. A few clumps of hair still lay on the tiles by his feet. Jet picked them up and held them in the flat of his open palm. Soon enough a gust of wind caught them, carrying them away and out of sight.

oOo

When Zuko slept it wasn't well. His shallow dreams were of a landscape shadowed by walls, too high to climb and too thick to break through. His dream self walked restlessly along them, fingers tracing lines of crumbling mortar as he searched for the hint of a doorway. Just a little farther, he knew, and he'd escape his dreary maze of narrow streets and blind alleys, stumble out into the open where he could see more than a sliver of sky. Just a little longer in the dark, a little deeper into the labyrinth, and he'd find his way.

He dreamed of other things, too; things that left him breathless in the early morning hours, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. The worst were those first, confused moments, when he groped at the empty floor beside him, still half-believing what he'd seen and felt and smelled. Those dreams he tried to forget but never could, their echos impossible to shake.

Tonight, he wasn't certain he'd slept at all. Each time he opened his eyes, the shafts of moonlight on the floor had drifted a little further, the only hint of time passing. He wasn't asleep, but he wasn't entirely awake, and at first he didn't notice the change when it happened. He stared for a long time at the window before realizing the shutters had been thrown open, longer still before he picked out the lean silhouette, distinguished by a faint halo of blue that caught on untidy hair and the irregular landscape of armor.

He pushed himself up, clumsy with sleep and nervousness, his thin sheet falling away. He opened his mouth but didn't speak, irrationally afraid that this, too, was a dream, and that naming what he saw might shatter it.

The shadow watched him silently for long, airless minutes, eyes glittering with reflected light. When he spoke, his words were stiff with suppressed emotion, trembling at the edges. "It would be easier," he said, "if I could trust you."

"You can," said Zuko, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Jet's hand was shaking as he ran it back through his hair. "Convince me," he said, somewhere between a command and a plea.

Zuko licked his lips. His mouth felt dry as sand, all the things he wanted to say caught in his throat like a bone. "All right," was all he could manage. Then, once he'd swallowed again, "Come in."

oOoOo


	5. Electric Shocks on Aching Bones

oOoOo

Jet watched as Li struck two spark rocks together, aiming for the little pile of tinder under the kettle. As if Jet didn't already fucking know. He wanted to feel insulted, or maybe to laugh at how ridiculous a gesture it was, but he didn't have the energy left for either. Li went about his usual ritual of making tea, tipping the leaves from a little pouch he pulled out of his sleeve, eyes fixed on what he was doing. He went through the motions like nothing had changed, every extra step another lie. Spark rocks for the fire and for the lantern on the floor beside them, long minutes of heavy silence as they waited for the water to boil, a towel wrapped around the kettle's handle, as if he couldn't have cooled it with a thought. As if he was just a nice kid from the coast who missed his tea-loving uncle and this was just his way of calming down, not the desperate grab for more time that Jet suspected.

He'd watched Li do this a hundred times and never known. A few weeks ago, he would've found it charming, the kind of endearing little quirk that made Li so damn hard to resist. Now he _did_ know, and Li was still charming, and Jet hadn't a clue what to do about that. He just felt numb and tired, distantly aware of how absurd a display this was but unable to summon the will to even roll his eyes. He was about to have tea in the middle of the night with a Firebender he'd spent the summer fucking. His entire life was absurd.

He took the cup Li handed him but didn't move to drink it. He held it by its cooler rim, watching Li through the curls of jasmine steam. Li's eyes were a deep gold in the lantern light, his cup cradled in both his hands and his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He looked pathetically, painfully lost, but Jet only clenched his jaw tighter. He didn't care that Li was terrible at this, couldn't give less of a shit if it was hard. If Li couldn't find a way to choke out the truth, Jet sure as hell wasn't going to help him along.

The fire beneath the kettle had dimmed to hot coals, and Li watched them smolder and fade, his brow deeply furrowed. "I wanted to tell you," he said at last, in a voice thick with more than awkwardness.

"So?" Jet mumbled, pretending at indifference even as his chest grew tight. "You didn't."

"I know," said Li. "I know, I'm…" He looked down at his cup, his reflection wavering in the pale, amber liquid. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what you would do."

Jet had nothing to say to that. He wondered if the porcelain would shatter in his grip, but he didn't put it down. He needed to hold onto something, and the cup was all he had.

Li rubbed the lip of his own cup with one thumb. The tea rippled, and Jet could hear the soft creak of friction. "You shouldn't have found out that way," Li said in his low, rasping whisper. "But I'm glad you know."

Jet snorted. "Right."

"I am. I don't want to lie to you anymore, Jet. I want you to trust me. I want it so-" His voice broke and he bowed his head, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. This isn't easy for me."

"And it is for me?"

Li flinched at that, but it didn't make Jet feel any better. If anything, he felt worse. A cold, hollow dread settled into his gut as he waited for Li to go on; watched as Li raised the cup to his lips, trembling so badly that dark drops of tea spattered the floor.

"I want to tell you the rest," he said. "Tell you everything."

Jet thought of all those long nights spent staring at hammocks and rafters, listening to the soft sounds of breathing as he wound back through months of lies and willful ignorance. In the hours just before dawn, it had all seemed perfectly, mercilessly clear.

Li came from money, that much Jet was sure of. And class, as well — the son of an admiral, maybe, or a governor. Probably he'd been an officer himself, happy to go along until they'd sent him on a mission he was still too green to stomach. He'd deserted, maybe fetched his Uncle from retirement in the colonies, then blended in with the tide of refugees as it flowed toward Ba Sing Se. It all made sense. Looking back, it was obvious. Jet had just been too horny and too stupid to notice.

"So do it," said Jet. "Tell me."

Li rubbed a hand over his face, his fingertips lingering on his scar. "It's worse than you think it is," he whispered, with a certainty that raised gooseflesh on the back of Jet's neck.

Maybe not so green, then. Jet couldn't keep from wondering what they'd made Li do, how far they'd pushed him before he'd finally cracked — how many villages burned, how many women raped, how many hard-lucked thieves turned out into the woods again with one less hand to steal with. "I doubt it," he said, though the last of his cockiness was gone.

Li twisted his hands together around the cup, pressing them down against his knees so hard they trembled from the effort. "Just…promise me something," he whispered. "Promise me you'll wait until I'm done before you leave."

The air was so thick with anxiety Jet imagined he could smell it, acrid and sour and suffocating. He shouldn't have come. He didn't want to hear whatever it was Li would say. Their eyes met, Li's gaze already pleading for forgiveness, and Jet realized that up until that moment, despite everything he knew and all that had happened, he'd still believed in the goodness of this boy. And once he'd answered, once he'd given Li permission to confess the worst of his sins, even that would be taken away from him.

"Please," Li whispered. "Just listen. That's all I'm asking."

Jet closed his eyes. He'd been right, after all — the Li he'd known, _his_ Li, had died under the lake. This conversation was little more than a funeral.

"Fine," he said dully. "Talk."

Li set his empty cup down on the floor, then wound his fingers into a tight knot in his lap. "I don't know how to say this," he murmured. "So I guess…I guess I'll just say it." He took several long, deep breaths, his efforts to calm himself only sharpening Jet's own impatience.

"I was born in the Fire Nation," said Li. "In the capital city. And I'm a prince. The prince. Or…well, at least I was."

Jet's chest squeezed tighter, his heart thudding against his ribs. "What are you saying?" he whispered. Because what he'd heard didn't make any sense.

"My mother's name was Ursa. My father…" Li stopped to take another breath, like a diver about to plunge beneath the surface. "My father's name is Ozai. Fire Lord Ozai."

Jet's first impulse was denial. _No_, he thought, wanting to shout it, to scream it as he threw his tea across the room. He didn't have to sit here and listen to this. "You're lying," he rasped. "You think I'm an idiot?"

"Why would I lie about this?" Li asked, soft and a little sad.

Jet felt dizzy, like the building had collapsed around him; like he was falling backwards. He stared down at his tea and tried to concentrate, tried to force what Li was saying to seem real.

He'd let the prince of the Fire Nation share his bed. Not just a Firebender but the iron heart of the war machine. "I should kill you," said Jet. His own voice sounded small and far away.

"You said you'd listen," Li murmured, and the most absurd thing of all was that Jet felt a twinge of sympathy. Li was looking at him again, and Jet raised his eyes to look back. The soft, green tunic Li wore had been made for someone larger, its frayed sleeves too low on his shoulders. His hair was long and mussed by restless sleep, half-covering his face. He looked young and skinny and nervous. Not like a prince at all.

"Yeah," said Jet. "Yeah, I guess I did."

Li poured them both more tea, though Jet hadn't drunk any of his, the well-bred manners newly flush with meaning. Then Li raised the cup to just beneath his chin, breathing in the steam. "So you're…you're probably wondering why I'm here," he said. "It's…complicated. But I'll try to explain.

"I guess it started three years ago. That's when…" He stopped, frowning as he struggled to find the right words. "I went to a war meeting. I shouldn't have been there…Uncle told me not to go, but I didn't listen. And I spoke out of turn, about the forty-first division. The general wanted to sacrifice all those men, and I…" He paused to swallow, his face as pale as Jet had ever seen it. "It doesn't matter. I'd disrespected my father. So he banished me."

"What?" said Jet, jolted for a moment out of stunned silence.

"He banished me," Li said again — slower, like he thought Jet had simply misheard him. "He said I couldn't return until I'd found and captured the Avatar. Regained my honor. And I haven't…I haven't been back since then. But Uncle came with me. To help. He made sure I had a ship and a crew. And we…well, we looked. We looked for a really long time.

"Last winter, I finally found him. The Avatar, I mean. At the South Pole, with those Water Tribe friends of his. The ones you know. And then…" He sighed and drank a little of the tea. "A lot's happened since then."

Jet listened with his mouth clamped shut, struggling to follow as Li described the last year in halting, fragmented sentences, the timeline a mess of corrections and details in all the wrong places. Looking back in the weeks that followed, Jet doubted Li had meant to say so much, but once he'd begun the words spilled out of him, too wildly improbable for Jet to dismiss.

Li had chased the Avatar to the Northern Water Tribe, been labeled a traitor and hunted across the Earth Kingdom, forced into hiding among its people. He'd stolen an ostrich horse and saved a family; he'd starved on the plains and baked in the desert; he'd escaped his sister, but in doing so lost the Avatar as well. It seemed an impossible story — all honor and destiny and royalty in disguise, the kind of thing you made up to entertain children — but Jet couldn't hold onto his doubt for long. No one would invent something so strange and convoluted, and Li wasn't that good of a liar besides.

Jet wasn't sure how long he sat there listening — hours, certainly, his tea untouched in his hand. Eventually the lantern sputtered out, but it was nearly dawn by then, and neither of them moved to re-light it. Jet wasn't sure he could have. He felt like he was frozen in place, bound to keep his promise whether he wanted to or not.

As Li spoke his voice grew a little stronger, his tone smooth and sure. More like himself, though Jet cringed at that even as he thought it. It wasn't until Li reached Full Moon Bay that he faltered once again. He sipped his cold tea and looked up into Jet's eyes, his own wide and shining. "Then I met you," he murmured. "And I…well." He flushed, lowering his gaze to the dregs in his cup . "You know what happened after that."

Jet knew. He remembered how Li had looked on the deck of the ferry, grim despite the sea and sunlight. He remembered his slow, steady push inside Li's borders — the afternoons at Pao's teashop; an alliance with Mushi that won his first invitation to dinner; all the looks and smiles and touches he just barely got away with. He remembered the first kiss, hidden from view by a shelf of canisters, Li's hand against his chest.

He'd been the one to tell Li about the princess — that she'd killed the Avatar and taken control of the city. They'd been sitting around the kitchen table, Jet and Li and Smellerbee and Longshot and Jin, who'd wormed her way into their little group by then. Li had crumpled at the news, folded in on himself and sat in numb silence while the rest of them scrambled to come up with some kind of plan. Jet hadn't paid it much mind at the time, content to let him grieve in his own way. He'd thought Li was just sensitive. He'd thought he understood.

It took a moment for him to realize Li was speaking again. "I know it's a lot. But it's the truth," he said. "You…you can ask me anything you want."

Jet nearly laughed aloud at the idea of asking questions. Where would he even start, when he was struggling so desperately to make sense of what he'd heard? How could he press for more details, when the ones he had already were so raw? How could connect that winding narrative with the boy who knelt in front of him? "Li…" he began, without knowing what he would say next.

Li's cautious hint of a smile disappeared. "That…isn't my name," he said, meeting Jet's eyes again.

"What?"

"My name. It's not Li. It's…" He swallowed, loud enough for Jet to hear, but didn't look away. "It's Zuko."

Something snapped inside Jet's chest, then, a red-hot wave of humiliated fury boiling up from the bottom of his gut. He put the cup down, hands curling into fists in his lap and fingernails cutting into his palms. Jet wanted to hit him, his body rigid with the effort of staying seated. But he didn't. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stop once he'd started.

But Jet wanted him to hurt. "Your scar," he said, grinding out the words. "How did you get it?" He doubted it was important, but he didn't care just then. All that mattered was that Li — _Shit,_ he thought, _not Li,_ not even that had been true — never spoke of it. He could tell from the look on the other boy's face that he'd guessed right, his barb finding its mark.

"I insulted a general," he said quietly. "There were…consequences."

"That's not an answer," Jet spat.

He could see the other boy's jaw clench, hands tightly gripping his thighs. It took him a long time to answer, and when he did his voice was oddly stiff, his expression more closed than Jet had ever seen it. "When you insult the Fire Lord's general in his war room, you insult the Fire Lord himself," he said. "He challenged me to an Agni Kai. A duel. I wouldn't fight him. So he punished me."

Jet never stared at his scar but couldn't help but do so now, thinking of bone-thin prisoners with words burned into their cheeks, forever branded with the details of their crimes. This scar wasn't the kind of thing you ever stopped noticing, but in that moment it stood out more fiercely than ever, the whirl of deep, red creases finally seen for what it was: another brand, wordless but no less eloquent for it.

The other boy sat with his eyes screwed shut, drawing slow, deep breaths through his nose. Eventually his shoulders fell, the cords of muscle in his neck no longer drawn quite so taut. He spoke as he opened his eyes again, the words cracked but clear. "Anything else?"

Jet didn't understand why things were happening this way. Everything he knew told him it was impossible — that even if the other boy's story was true, the fact that he was sitting in this apartment, sharing this conversation, didn't make any sense. He should have gone back to the Fire Nation. That's what any sane person would have done. But he'd willingly stayed behind in a city that didn't want him, fought his countrymen, pleaded for a chance to tear open his own, old wounds and spill his history out onto the floor.

"Why are you still here?" Jet rasped.

"I told you. You asked me to stay. So I stayed."

"Bullshit."

"It's true. I-"

"Bullshit!" Jet barked, furious again. He didn't want to have to think about this, but the pieces slid together on their own. "You think I'm stupid? I know you wanted to go back to the Fire Nation, you practically _begged_ me to let you! I thought you were just crazy then, but I guess it all makes sense now, huh? You'd go back and be some big fucking hero, stop the invasion and hand over the Avatar all in one go."

"Jet, that's not-"

"Don't tell me that isn't what you wanted to do! I _know_ it was!" He was shouting now, too loud to be safe. "Don't _lie_ to me!"

The other boy rubbed at his eyes. "I changed my mind," he murmured.

"You're telling me that squatting here in this fucking hole, following me around like some kind of stray dog…that's better than being a _prince_ again? Better than making up with dear old Daddy Fire Lord?" He hated himself for saying these things, but he couldn't stop. "No. No, I'm not buying it. You're not that fucking stupid."

"Only two people care what I do anymore. Both of them told me to stay in Ba Sing Se." The way he said it wasn't sentimental — there was no softness in his tone, no hopeful glance up at Jet. He spoke as if stating plain fact. And that was worse, really.

But Jet couldn't afford to be weak. "That's not good enough," he said. His throat felt raw and dry, so he picked up his neglected tea and knocked it back in one gulp. He'd come here for a reason. He had responsibilities. "Look…Jin told me you wanted to help. That you had some kind of plan to take back the city. So fine. I came to listen." He put the cup down and glowered until the other boy met his eyes. "But I'm not gonna trust you to watch my back if you don't give a shit about this. About what we're fighting for. You've gotta want it so bad you'll die for it, or you don't belong here."

"I never said I didn't care. I just-" He shook his head. "This is really confusing for me."

"Fuck you," Jet snapped, more from impatience than malice. "Figure it out."

The thing about Li — about _Zuko_, fuck this was going to be hard — was how seriously he took everything. Told to "figure it out," he knelt quietly and did exactly that, forehead lined with concentration and eyes staring through the wall at something Jet couldn't see: the intangible, distant key to the puzzle turning over in his mind.

"When I was a kid, they told me the Fire Nation was the greatest civilization in history," he said. The words were slow and deliberate, as if his thoughts were still half-formed, only coming together in the moment he spoke them aloud. "They told me the war was just a way to share that greatness with the rest of the world. We weren't conquering it, we were just…bringing it up to our level. Teaching the other nations how to be as great as ours." He paused, his frown deepening. "I've been away from home a long time. More than three years. I've seen a lot of things.

"Uncle used to tell me about the Southern Water Tribe. He said a hundred years ago, they had a whole city, almost as big as the one in the north. But it's not like that anymore. It's just a tiny little village, all old women and children. The men are gone. The benders are gone, except the Avatar's friend. And I know the Fire Nation did that. I'm not stupid, either.

"Living here in the city with you…with everyone…I don't want that to happen again. Not here. All these people, they're just trying to live. And they have their own civilization, you know? They have trains and universities and art and music. Or they did. We burned the university down. We destroyed the trains. How is that sharing our greatness? We tore their walls down and took their lives from them. Now they can't even _eat_." His voice broke. He scrubbed at both his eyes again, took a shuddering breath and then went on. "We shouldn't be here. We shouldn't be doing this. It's wrong, Jet, I know it's wrong, I just…they're my _people_, but I can't let this happen. I can't just sit here while the world falls apart. I have to _do_ something."

He bowed his head, his face buried in his hands. "You have to understand…I thought the Avatar was dead. And then Azula left, just…she never even _tried_ to find me. No more wanted posters. No search parties. The Avatar was a better prize, I guess. I've had a lot of time to think about it, and it…it seems pretty obvious my father never cared if I came home or not. He just wanted me out of the way. So now I am."

Jet watched him try to shake it off, wiping his face with his sleeve and digging his knuckles into his eyes. "At least here I can do something that matters," he said. "You showed me that. Showed me how to _help_ people instead of just…" He sighed, raising his hands in a helpless gesture before letting them fall again. "I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."

Jet looked down at the empty teacup. He didn't know what to say, either, his thoughts a quiet litany of weakness. _He stayed. He wanted to stay. He saved me. He made me tea._

"I need to think," said Jet. It was too much all at once. He got to his feet, stiff from having sat in the same position for so long, and walked to the window. He didn't look back — he wasn't sure he could force himself to leave if he did.

oOo

Zuko wrapped the cups and kettle in soft rags and tucked them into a stack, the spark rocks nestled inside. He folded the spare clothes and the tarp he'd been using as a blanket and set them on the rug, his map and extra shoes beside them. But that was as much as he dared. Any more and he'd actually have packed, which felt presumptuous and far too hopeful.

Zuko knelt beside the neat row of his belongings, facing the open window, and waited. Hardly anyone lived in this building anymore, but he could hear those who did going about their morning routine. Two women chatted beside the well in the courtyard, an iron pulley squealing as it turned. Children laughed and chased each other along the second-floor walkway, their bare feet slapping against worn wooden boards, making the floor vibrate as they ran by. Some ways away a hog chicken crowed.

Zuko listened carefully, trying to focus on what he heard instead of what he hoped would follow. Months into the occupation, Ba Sing Se still hummed with the lives of normal people, their spirits seemingly unbroken. Within an hour, some Fire Nation corporal would come to collect the able-bodied adults and pack them into wagons, drawn by half-starved ostrich horses along the widened avenues. They'd spend the day toiling at an iron works near the edge of the outer ring, not returning until well after nightfall, yet every morning they still cheerfully went about their business. At first Zuko had wondered if they'd been brainwashed, somehow, thinking of what Ping had told him about the Dai Li and their tactics. But Ping and Jin had laughed at him when he'd explained his theory.

"They're not brainwashed," Jin had said, kindly though she still chuckled a little. "They're just making the best of things. What else can they do?"

So Zuko had made the best of things as well, and spent the time between raids just like this, drinking in the little details of this strange new home of his. It still seemed so exotic. He'd spent his boyhood in a different sort of city, tidier and not nearly so sprawling, one where the livestock stayed shut up in barns and the children walked in quiet, solemn rows. Not that he'd ever seen much of it, really. A prince wasn't allowed to roam the streets on his own, and there was only so much you could see from inside a palanquin.

It struck him, then, that he wouldn't have to keep any of this to himself from now on. He could share these fleeting thoughts about his home, about who he'd been and how he'd lived and how different things were now, with the person he most wanted to talk to. Jet knew who he was. For better or worse Jet knew everything, where he'd come from and the whole mess of exile and regret that had followed. Thinking of it, Zuko felt his heartbeat quicken, warmth spreading through his chest. He couldn't help but hope a little.

The wagon had only just rumbled away when Zuko heard it: a soft, lilting call from above, one most would mistake for birdsong. He knew the answering call — the same melody turned on its head, ending low instead of high — but he'd never got the hang of whistling. Heart pounding so hard it made him dizzy, Zuko leapt to this feet to snatch his bag and his swords from where they hung by the door. The call sounded again as he shoved the last of his things into the bag, cinched it shut and bolted toward the open window.

Jet stood at the peak of the roof, arms crossed over his chest and a stalk of dry grass between his teeth.

"All right," he said.

Zuko felt his heart would explode if it beat any harder. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this way — like anything was possible, and everything might just find a way to turn out as it should. He wanted to pull Jet into his arms and hold him close, to let the tears that prickled at the corners of his eyes fall as he breathed Jet's scent and tasted his mouth and promised never to lie to him again.

"All right," said Zuko. He could see the tension in Jet's stance, the scowl that might as well have been a wall between them. _Not yet_, he thought, his grip on the bag tightening. _Not just yet._

oOo

Neither of them spoke as they ran, habit and instinct keeping them close on the landscape of tile and wooden beams. As they scaled the wall of the upper ring Zuko wondered — for the first time, not having thought so far before — what the others would say when they saw him again. It was a bit of a shock to realize he had no idea at all.

A few buildings short of the Jasmine Dragon, Jet slowed to a jog and then stopped, his toes at the edge of the roof. He drew the grass from his mouth and twirled it between his fingers, his arched brows knit together. He seemed to be thinking something over, so Zuko waited, quietly expectant, for him to say whatever he had to.

"I don't think they should know everything," Jet muttered finally. "Smellerbee and Longshot, yeah. Jin and Ping and maybe Xue Sheng if you have to, but not the kids. It'll just confuse them."

"I don't want to lie to anyone anymore," said Zuko, looking at Jet even though the other boy wouldn't meet his eyes. "Not about that."

Jet's jaw clenched, the grass stalk quivering as he returned it to his mouth. "Fine," he said before leaping down into the street.

Zuko was barely through the kitchen door when Jin barreled into him, almost knocking him over with the force of her enthusiasm. "Oh _Li_!" she cried, hugging him so tightly that the air was squeezed from his lungs. "Oh, I just…I _knew_ he'd gone to talk to you and I'm so…AHH!" She finished with a wordless little shout that Zuko found mildly alarming.

To his surprise, when she released him she pushed past and attacked a wholly unsuspecting Jet, who had just bolted the door closed again. He looked annoyed and profoundly uncomfortable, but he bore Jin's bone-crushing hug, shifting his jaw so that the grass stalk wouldn't be caught in her high ponytail. "I'm so sorry I yelled at you," she said, muffled by his shirt. "You're not crazy, you're a good, _good_ man and oh, you _stupid_ boys-!"

"Enough," Jet grunted, though not unkindly, and Jin obligingly let him go so he could walk the rest of the way into the room.

Jin sidled up to Zuko again, pulling at the edge of his sleeve. "What did he say?" she hissed, one eye still on Jet as he slowly made his way across the kitchen. "What did _you_ say?"

"It's…kind of lot…" said Zuko. He glanced at Jet as well, who'd climbed halfway up the stairs to the storage room. "Maybe I should wait…"

"Get everyone up," said Jet. He didn't shout, but his voice was loud enough to be heard in the next room. "I've got some things to tell them."

Jin looked between the two boys, her smile starting to falter. "Is everything all right?"

"Just get them up," said Jet. He sat down on the step, his hands on his knees. "No point explaining twice."

Though most of them had only been asleep for a few hours, it didn't take long to rouse the other Freedom Fighters. Smellerbee and Longshot appeared within moments, their drawn faces suggesting they'd never gone to sleep at all. They leaned against the stairway just below where Jet sat, like a kind of honor guard. The rest followed a few minutes later, most of them bleary-eyed and half-dressed. As they filed into the kitchen, every one of them looked first at Zuko, mouths open in surprise, then quickly turned back to Jet to see what he thought of this new development. But Jet remained stone-faced, and they knew better than to pester him with questions once a meeting had been called.

Zuko stayed near the door to the alley, feeling more awkward that he would have expected. Normally he'd have taken his place next to Jet, but that didn't seem like such a good idea just now, so he stood and fidgeted and wished everyone would stop staring at him. Jin, at least, stayed close, her hand on his elbow. When Ping emerged from the main room, crisply dressed in dark robes and impeccably groomed as always, he glided over to stand on Zuko's other side. Unlike Jin, he didn't say anything. But Zuko thought he might have seen the barest shadow of a smile.

Jin stood up on her tiptoes, lips moving as she counted. "That's everyone," she said. Jet nodded and raised one hand. The room quieted in an instant.

"Looks like I have an introduction to make," said Jet. He extended the hand toward Zuko, all eyes following his gesture.

"But that's Li!" Zuko recognized Roo's overloud whisper, rising up from somewhere near the stove. "I already know Li!" A few of the younger kids laughed nervously, but a sharp look from Jet cut them short.

"His name's Zuko," Jet said with deliberate care. "He's a Firebender. But he…" Jet's voice faltered, but no one broke the silence of his pause. "He's given up a lot to be here." Zuko felt a little jolt as their eyes connected. "You wanna explain or should I?"

Zuko swallowed, shrinking under the weight of so many gazes. "Go ahead."

The room held itself perfectly still as Jet spoke, as if afraid a whisper or cough might stop him from finishing. As strange as it had been to tell Jet about his life, it was even stranger to hear it summarized for the benefit of others. The speech was short and unsentimental, but it painted a far more flattering picture than Zuko would have expected: of an exiled prince who would fight his own people in the name of justice, who had given up his throne to help save an Earth Kingdom city.

"So that's how it is," said Jet, sounding flat and tired of listening to himself. "If you don't like it, you can leave."

He pushed himself up again and walked down the stairs. "Meeting's over," he said, already halfway to the main room. "Go eat your breakfast."

Longshot and Smellerbee followed him out of sight. Everyone else turned as one to look at Zuko. He took a nervous step back, nearly tripping over Jin's foot. He had no idea what he was supposed to do or what, if anything, he could say. He'd lied to all these people for months, and now they knew exactly how much he had hidden.

"Zuko?" Behind him, Jin spoke the word slowly, as if seeing how it tasted. He turned and saw she was smiling at him. Only a little hesitant, she reached up to clasp his shoulders, holding him at arm's length. "I'll try to remember, all right? But it might take a little while."

"Okay," said Zuko, unsure as to why she wasn't yelling at him.

She smiled even wider, got up on her toes to kiss him lightly on the cheek, then turned to lift an apron down from the row of hooks on the wall. "I feel a little silly asking a prince to chop onions," she said, handing it to him. "But these kids aren't going to feed themselves."

"But…" Zuko looked dumbly at the apron in his hand. "Aren't you…I thought you'd be _angry_ or-"

"I'm just glad I have my cook back." said Jin, already rummaging around in the bins beneath the counter. "Jet kept wandering off while the porridge boiled over and Xue Sheng burns everything."

"I do not," Xue Sheng said petulantly, having emerged from hiding. He didn't much like Jet's meetings, and tended to hover just inside the pantry whenever Jin let him get away with it.

"I bet you do it on purpose so I won't ask you to help," said Jin slyly. Xue Sheng pinkened and muttered under his breath, pulling a ledger from the depths of one sleeve and quickly disappearing behind it.

Zuko tied the apron behind his back and took three shriveled onions from Jin. He could still feel everyone staring at him, but at least now he had something to take his mind off it. His back was to the room, but he could hear low muttering and the scrape of chairs as people settled down to wait for their meal.

He'd finished with the onions and was peeling a wizened clove of garlic when he heard his name again — still strange, after so many months of answering to "Li." He turned to see that Xiao Si Wang had come over, her chin high and her hands on her hips. He was pretty sure that Roo was hiding behind her, though it was hard to tell — all he could really see were two small hands bunched up in Wang's tunic and an extra pair of legs.

"Roo's afraid of you," said Wang. "Can you tell her she's being stupid?"

"You're being stupid," said Zuko. He moved over a bit, making room in front of the counter. "Come on. You can peel garlic."

He left the garlic in a small pile and carried the pot of last night's rice over to the sink. Ping, who hadn't moved from his spot in front of the door, shifted to a slightly more detectable smile and pumped water while Zuko held the pot in place, then helped him to carry it back and lift it up onto the burner.

Roo and Wang were both standing at the counter, now, peeled cloves stacking up between them. Zuko crouched down to open the stove's iron door and shovel more coal into the remains of yesterday's fire. Then, still feeling like he was getting away with something he shouldn't, he held out one hand and gave the flames a push.

"You're really a Firebender," said Wang, her show of confidence faltering a little. She watched him as he closed the door and straightened, Roo peeking out from behind her.

"Yeah," said Zuko. He pulled the garlic toward him and started to mince it with a large, chipped knife.

"But Firebenders are the bad guys," said Roo, almost a question. "That's why we're fighting them."

He scraped everything into the pot, taking his time so he'd have a chance to think. "We're fighting the Dai Li, too," he said. "They're Earthbenders."

"I guess."

"People are people," he said. "Some of them are bad. But not all of them."

"Not you."

"No. No, not me."

Roo thought this over, then shrugged, as if rolling the worry off her shoulders. "Can you do any tricks?" she asked.

"Well…I can't do most of them inside but…" He thought for a moment as he stirred the simmering porridge. "There is one thing, I guess. Here." He let the spoon lean against the side of the pot and held his hands in front of him, the palms a short distance apart.

He wasn't completely out of practice — he'd spent many hours in the last two weeks in private meditation, mismatched stubs of candles waxing and waning with his breath — but it still took him a moment to conjure a perfect little drop of flame. He felt the currents of his chi move along his arms, through his fingers and into the air between them, concentrating in that one, flickering point. Slowly it began to trace a path through the air, moving faster and faster until it blurred into a ring of fire.

Roo frowned as it evaporated. "That's it?"

"What do you mean, 'that's it?'" Zuko spluttered. "That's really hard to do!"

"It was…nice," said Wang diplomatically. Xue Sheng snickered from behind his ledger.

"It was lame," said Roo. She rolled her eyes and carried the knives and cutting board over to the sink. "You're right, Wang. Totally not scary."

"It took me _years_ to learn how to do that!"

"It took you a month to learn how to cook an egg," Jin teased, grinning as she set a stack of bowls down near the stove.

Zuko had almost forgotten they had an audience, dozens of kids crowded around the kitchen table. He was reminded by a sudden snort of disgust, followed by the sound of a chair abruptly pushed back. Zuko glanced over his should to see Gen stalk away into the main room.

The mood broken, Jin sighed and picked up the wooden spoon. "It'll take some of them longer," she said as the stirred the porridge. "Don't let it get to you."

"Sure," said Zuko. He didn't want to say anything else right now, not so soon and not in front of the kids. But he thought of Jet, who'd left the room as well, for reasons that weren't at all mysterious. And he tried very hard, though with little success, not to let that get to him either.

oOo

Zuko and Jin were nearly finished with the dishes when Jet came back into the kitchen, flanked by Longshot and Smellerbee. A few of the bolder Freedom Fighters had stayed after breakfast to pepper Zuko with questions, mostly about how big of a fireball he could make, but one gesture from Jet was enough to flush them out. Ping and Xue Sheng looked up from their work — updating the map of the palace grounds, the ink still wet where Xue Sheng had drawn a new guardhouse — but neither moved to stand.

"We've got a lot of planning to do," said Jet. He pulled out a chair and sank into it, slumped with legs extended under the table. "So let's plan."

Zuko's hands were shaking a little as he dried them, sneaking glances at Jet from the corner of his eye. Smellerbee and Longshot were in the chairs on either side of him, not that Zuko could have sat there anyway. After a few moment's anxious debate he went and sat at the far end of the table from them, Jin staying close so that he ended up between her and Ping. He looked straight at Jet but Jet's eyes were on the map-covered table, focused on some arbitrary point, and stayed there as he spoke.

"You have something in mind?" Jet asked, not bothering to specify who he was talking to. They all knew.

"Um…sort of…" said Zuko. He licked his lips, which seemed reluctant to form words properly. "I had some ideas. I don't know if they'll work."

"That's more than what we have now," said Jin. She reached over to squeeze his fingers under the table. He knew she meant well, but mostly it reminded him of how things had been before, and the rougher, larger hands he hadn't touched in so long.

"Well," he began. "There aren't very many of us-"

"Us who?" said Jet. He didn't look up, but Zuko could see the tension in his neck.

"Us, the Freedom Fighters," said Zuko, no hesitation in his voice this time. He'd made his decision. "We have what, forty soldiers?"

"Forty-two, now that Gen's back on his feet," said Jin.

"Right. And seven benders including me. The runners can help carry messages but they can't fight. So that's one of us for every hundred of them in the city."

"Worse than that," said Ping. "Since the Eastern Gate, they've pulled in reinforcements from Full Moon Bay and the rest of Yue Liang province. At least a thousand men. Maybe more."

Zuko nodded. "Right. See, that's what I mean. We can't fight them like we're an army, there just aren't enough of us. We can't take back the city street-by-street. We're better off with coordinated raids — small and fast, in and out before they realize what's happening."

"To what end?" Ping rumbled. "They've doubled their guard on the armories and warehouses. We won't manage something like that night in the tank yards again. They're expecting it."

"I know," said Zuko. "That's because we're just terrorists to them. Dumb kids who get lucky sometimes. Good at sneaking around and making life hard for them, but not a real threat. They have us outnumbered, and they have the Dai Li helping them."

"Who won't be affected by the eclipse," said Xue Sheng. "Which everyone seems to keep forgetting."

But Zuko wasn't to be deterred. He'd had time to think this through, however much the details still escaped him. But he couldn't help glancing over at Jet again. Jet was the one who took these vague ideas and pinned them down to something workable. Usually while they lay on their backs in the store room, tucked up against each other as they whispered about troop movements in the dark.

Jet didn't look up. Zuko swallowed and tried to pretend Jin's soft fingers on the back of his hand were enough. "Ping," he said, "the Dai Li take their orders from the Fire Nation, right?"

If the question made Ping uncomfortable, it didn't show on his face. "Princess Azula had Long Feng and those loyal to him jailed before she left the city," he said. "My most recent intelligence puts Captain Quan as their highest-ranking officer. He answers directly to General Zha, who leads the occupying forces."

"All right. So." Zuko paused to gather his thoughts. He wasn't quite used to this yet — speaking so freely about what he knew, and dominating so much of the discussion. Jet usually did most of the talking at meetings like these. "The Fire Nation military is all about rank. Most Firebenders this far out on the front are officers. Non-benders are just foot soldiers. Expendable. And they know it. They're trained right from the start to follow orders and not ask questions. A smart soldier's that much more likely to kill you when your back is turned."

"It's an army, in other words," Xue Sheng said dryly.

"Right. So they're disciplined but they can't think on their feet. They don't know what to do with themselves when something goes wrong."

Ping nodded, looking thoughtful. "Remember the mill?" he said. "They had us far outnumbered, but Xiao Si Wang killed their corporal early in the battle. His men retreated almost immediately."

"Exactly," said Zuko, grinning a little now. "There's a lot of Fire Nation here but most of them aren't officers, just regular enlisted men. Once the corporal was dead, they didn't have any idea what to do on their own, so they fell back to wait for new orders."

"What're you saying we should do?" said Jet.

"Cut off the army's head," said Zuko. "We'll position ourselves just before the eclipse, then take out as many officers as we can while their bending's gone. If we do enough damage, knock out enough of the chain of command…I think we can force them to retreat." His eyes never moved from Jet as he spoke, searching for any hint of a reaction. "I think we can make them leave the city."

"We'd still have to find some way to hold it," said Xue Sheng. "The government's completely collapsed — half the bureaucrats fled after the walls came down, and the rest are dead, imprisoned or in hiding. And we still won't have an army."

"The Dai Li may yet be convinced," said Ping, "were the winds to turn in our favor. If we can summon the strength to retake our land, they may decided it's in their best interest to help us."

"So many ifs," said Xue Sheng. "I don't like it."

"Do you have a better idea?" asked Jin. "We're Freedom Fighters, right? This is what we're here to do. And it's not like there's an eclipse every week — we might not get another chance."

"Agreed," Ping rumbled. "Given the resources available, this appears to be the best course to take. Desperate, perhaps, but not hopeless."

Across the table, Jet sat with his head lowered and his fingers steepled in front of him, listening to them hash out tentative specifics. Xue Sheng unearthed a blank scrap of parchment and took notes as they broke the Freedom Fighters down into teams, one for each of the Earth Benders. Jin knew all their names and faces almost as well as Jet did, while Ping and Zuko were familiar with how they worked together in a fight. Between them the teams formed quickly, though Zuko's name was conspicuously absent from the list.

"Put him with us," said Jet, meaning himself, Smellerbee, Longshot, Ping and Xiao Si Wang. He didn't offer an explanation, and Zuko's heartbeat quickened as Xue Sheng dipped his brush into the ink.

"Spelling?" Xue Sheng asked, brush poised above the parchment.

"The characters for…'resurrection' and 'rule,'" said Zuko, feeling his cheeks grow warm. They'd written it as "ancestors' robber" on the wanted posters. He wasn't sure which was more apt as things were now.

If Jet thought the choice of characters ironic, he gave no indication. A look passed between him and his friends, but that was all.

The rest of the afternoon was spent on details of other kinds. Ping had made a list of all known Fire Nation officers — a tightly-rolled parchment he kept in his sleeve — and Xue Sheng marked each of their usual positions in red on his largest map of the city. The hours slid easily by as they worked, Jin sometimes getting up to make them tea, Xue Sheng disappearing once to fetch more ink, Zuko trying his best to remember all he knew about General Zha and the other high-ranking officers. Jet spoke very little, interrupting them only to ask the occasional question or correct some small mistake. Smellerbee and Longshot didn't say anything at all.

Outside, the sun set and the alleyway darkened. Jin cooked a simple dinner of barley soup, and carried steaming bowls of it on trays into the main room, where the others were still waiting for them to finish. Moonlight was streaming through the gaps in the shutters when Xue Sheng at last set down his brush.

Zuko stayed seated as the others moved around him. Jin kissed the top of his head, then went to help Xue Sheng roll up his maps. They slipped into the main room, Smellerbee and Longshot following after the former whispered something into Jet's ear. Ping collected his Earthbenders and went upstairs, to the room they shared at the end of the hall. Jet didn't look up. Zuko watched him and waited.

The kitchen had been empty for some time — ten minutes, at least, though Zuko found it hard to tell with his heart beating so fast — before either of them spoke. Zuko wanted Jet to be the one to break the silence, but once enough time had passed he found he couldn't stand it anymore. In the end, the question was painfully straightforward: "What now?"

"It's late," said Jet quietly. "I'm tired."

They both were. Tired enough that Zuko's resolve began to crumble, the reasons why he shouldn't do what he wanted to — why he wasn't sitting next to Jet, why they weren't already tangled together in bed — all slipping away from him.

Jet's eyes stayed on the tabletop as Zuko got up, his footsteps measured and slow as he walked behind the empty chairs, allowing all the time in the world for Jet to move away. He didn't, and soon Zuko stood behind him. When he rested a hand on Jet's shoulder, fingertips along his collarbone, he expected to feel cords of tension under his palm. Instead Jet's shoulders fell just slightly, a soft breath escaping his lips.

Zuko didn't want to move. Couldn't move, for fear of doing something he shouldn't. He could smell Jet's skin, see the regular throb of Jet's pulse on his neck. Zuko wanted to dip his head down, to kiss that warm flutter and slide his hand inside Jet's tunic. He wanted it so badly that for a long, dizzying moment he couldn't think of anything else, could only stand there with his hand on the other boy, real and solid and achingly close.

"Jet," he murmured.

The tension returned, then, muscles drawn taut beneath his hand. Jet stood, and Zuko let his arm drop to his side.

"You can have the room," said Jet, his voice hoarse. He didn't turn, shoulders hunched so that his face was hidden from view. He walked out of the kitchen, and it took all the strength of Zuko's will not to try and stop him.

oOo

Zuko barely remembered the day the walls had fallen. Too much had happened too quickly for him to absorb it, his entire life thrown into disarray over the space of a few hours. He'd lost his uncle in the morning; he'd lost the Avatar that afternoon, stolen from him by his sister, which had at least been fitting. That day, it had been hard for him to see much of anything beyond the sudden emptiness in his chest.

But he remembered Jet. As the others rushed to gather news and scavenge what they'd need to turn a teashop into a home, Jet had found reasons to stay behind. Sometimes he'd gotten up from the kitchen table for a little while, to see what they had to work with in the pantry or explore the store rooms upstairs. He'd closed the large serving window along one wall of the kitchen, a few nails making the change permanent. Then he'd disappeared into the main room with a ball of twine and an armful of canvas tarps. Zuko had stared at the tabletop and listened to him push furniture around, whistling cheerfully as he worked.

The rest of the time, Jet had sat beside Zuko at the table. Not saying much of anything, not asking questions — just rubbing Zuko's back with one hand, the other sometimes reaching over to gently ruffle his hair. When the others had returned Jet hadn't pulled away, his hand still moving in slow, soothing circles as they plotted the course of the resistance.

Zuko had been only half-aware of this, his new friends moving around him in a sort of soft blur, as if he'd been watching them through clouded glass. Then Jet had returned from the last of his short errands and pulled Zuko up out of his chair.

"You look like you could use some sleep," he'd said, smiling as he lead Zuko up the narrow stairway. "It's been a pretty rough day."

Zuko hadn't asked where he'd found the bed, or how he'd gotten it into the tiny storage room. Just then, he hadn't had the energy to care. He wasn't tired so much as tired of thinking, exhausted by the weight of sudden change. Maybe sleep would quiet his mind for a while.

He'd lain down on the bed in all his clothes. Jet had watched from the doorway, outlined by the faint glow of the kitchen lamps.

"I'd like to come in," Jet had said, with none of his usual swagger. "If that's all right with you."

Zuko hadn't known what he wanted from Jet that night. He had never been with anyone like this before, still wasn't sure what to make of this strange boy who'd taken such an interest in him. But he'd found that he didn't need to think Jet's question over. That answer had felt obvious, even then.

"Yes," he'd said.

Jet had closed the door, shutting out all but the faintest sliver of light. The floorboards had creaked as he walked over to the bed, buckles clinking softly as he undid the fastenings of his armor. Zuko had felt the bed move as Jet lay down beside him, then warm, strong arms had wound around his ribs. Jet had kissed his forehead, pulled him close.

"We'll find a way through this," Jet had whispered. "Okay? We'll figure something out."

Jet had held him as he cried, his face pushed up against Jet's chest, fingers twisted into folds of rough fabric. He'd wept for all he'd lost and all he'd given up without realizing; for the life he would never have again. Tears had streamed from his eyes and soaked through the front of Jet's shirt, his shoulders quaking silently. Jet must have wondered what was wrong, but he hadn't asked. He'd only stroked Zuko's hair and said, "We'll find a way, baby," and held him that much tighter.

He'd wanted to tell Jet everything then — to explain why he was acting this way, describe the hole the Avatar's death had torn in his heart. Instead he'd sought Jet's mouth with his own, used his lips and hands and tongue to tell a different kind of truth. One he'd struggled against in the weeks since Full Moon Bay, resisting the temptation to put down roots, to tie himself to a place where he didn't belong.

That night, he'd clung to Jet with all the strength of a drowning man.

Now, Zuko lay on his back in their bed, breathing through his nose to catch what remained of Jet's scent on the pillow. He thought of Jet's shoulder beneath his palm, but this time Jet turned his head, looked up at Zuko with wide, hazel eyes full of desire, parted his lips easily when Zuko leaned in to kiss him. He imagined Jet saying his name, his _real_ name, the way he'd once said "Li" — like it was all he wanted in the world. It didn't seem so distant anymore.

He remembered how it had been that first night, so much more than stolen moments of awkward groping had prepared him for. He closed his eyes and saw Jet straddle his waist; saw him pull off his shirt to reveal a lean torso, the pale lines of old scars crisscrossing his chest. Zuko imagined himself reaching up, his hands sliding along Jet's sides, feeling his ribs move beneath his skin as he breathed. When Jet bent down to kiss him again, he shifted to push the bulges in their pants together, one hand cupping Zuko's ass to pull him close, his mouth hungry and wet and everywhere at once.

Zuko whispered Jet's name, his hands sliding beneath his waistband, imagining the fingers that curled around him weren't his own.

oOo

Jet told himself he was just being realistic. He hadn't slept the night through since before the Eastern Gate, and he couldn't afford to be this exhausted when there was so much work to be done. He'd get himself killed if he went on like this — or worse, someone else. Smellerbee had been right: he was the leader, at least in name. He owed it to his men to be awake and alert when he lead them into battle.

He'd hoped that sharing a cot with Smellerbee and Longshot would be enough — he'd spent years in their company, after all, and they alone had chosen to follow when he'd left his old life behind him. They were the closest thing he had to family. But it hadn't been enough, and he'd run through all the other tricks he knew. He'd counted the slow, deep breathes of his friends; he'd made himself tea from valerian root in the middle of the night; he'd exercised until he could barely stand, his limbs trembling with fatigue as he collapsed into bed. None had brought him more than a few, fitful hours. He'd become intimate with every detail of the hammocks above him.

The situation wasn't sustainable. He told himself that sentimentality wasn't what lead him into the kitchen that night, up the stairs to the first of the three store rooms. He hadn't slept since Li had gone. He was desperate. This was the only thing he had left to try.

Slowly, careful not to make even the slightest noise, Jet sat against the wall of the narrow hallway, just beside the store room door. The wood was thin and flimsy, not meant for much of anything beyond keeping the room's contents out of sight. Through it he could hear soft breathing. _Zuko,_ he thought. _His name is Zuko, now._

He couldn't go in, but he could sit and listen for a while. Maybe that would be enough. He closed his eyes, felt his own breathing slow to match the other boy's. He didn't fight it. Just a little while wouldn't hurt.

But as he listened, the rhythm began to change. The breaths quickened and lost their depth, hitching in a way that made Jet's mouth go dry. He could hear fabric rustle, then the unmistakable rasp of skin against skin. He had heard all these things before. He knew exactly what they meant, exactly what Zuko's face would look like if he could see it — eyes closed and lips parted, brow creased as if in pain.

Zuko gasped his name, a broken whisper that sent all the blood in his body rushing toward his groin. He knew he should go but he couldn't move. He felt lightheaded. Zuko's breaths were ragged, more small, pleading words emerging from its rasp. "Jet," he whispered, the "t" lost in in the breath that followed. "Yes."

As Jet unlaced his trousers he told himself he was just being practical. He'd never be able to sleep like this. He may as well take care of it.

He kept himself as quiet as he could, mouth wide open to hide the sound of his breathing, synching the movements of his hands with the ones he could hear inside the room. Perhaps, if he hadn't been so tired, if it hadn't been so long since he'd had any kind of release, he would have felt some guilt at this. As it was, he felt only relief. And a slow, spreading warmth that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with this boy and his soft voice and how even after everything, even now, the name he whispered was Jet's own.

Neither of them lasted long.

Once he'd tucked himself away again and wiped his hands on his pants, Jet knew he'd stayed far past what was wise. But it was already so late, and he was tired. Zuko drifted off as he listened, breaths deep and slow, and he felt his eyelids grow heavy. It couldn't hurt to stay for just a little while longer. He stifled a yawn and tipped his head back, resting it on the wall. Just a little while.

oOoOo


	6. A Welcome Arrow Through The Heart

oOoOo

When Jet woke, it took him several seconds to get his bearings. He was on the hard, wooden floor of the upstairs hallway, his back against the wall. A thin cotton blanket had been draped over him, one that smelled of boy and jasmine. He pressed it to his face for a moment, eyes half-lidded. Below him, he could hear pots rattling and the buzz of conversation.

He stood, feeling groggy in a way he wasn't used to. He didn't often sleep so deeply.

In the kitchen, the morning routine was well under way. Jin and Xue Sheng were at the table, as were Ping and his Earthbenders, the eight of them crowded around the list of teams they'd drawn up yesterday. Zuko was stirring a pot of rice porridge, scowling down at its bubbling contents.

He looked up when Jet stepped on a creaking stair, a shy smile blossoming. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," said Jet, uncharacteristically awkward. He moved just close enough to see the contents of the pot, then sniffed at the steam rising from it. "Needs more pepper," he said.

"Yeah, I…I was thinking that," said Zuko. "But I always add too much, so-"

"You would, I guess," said Jet, though he left it at that. He reached up and took a few small jars down from the shelf above the stove. "I'll finish this," he said. "Any eggs today?"

"Roo went out to look," said Zuko as he stepped aside, offering Jet the wooden spoon. "I um…I think there's a little dried fish somewhere…"

"Chop it up. We'll add it to this."

"All right." Careful not to come too close, Zuko walked past him to go and look in the pantry under the stairs.

Jet started dumping handfuls of seasoning into the pot. He was aware of Jin watching him from the table, though he pretended not to notice. It wasn't her business who he talked to, and they were just making breakfast.

Smellerbee ambled in from the main room, stretching her arms above her head. She came over to peer inside the pot, and he offered her a spoonful to taste.

"More salt," she said, then grinned lopsidedly. "Sleep well?"

"I guess."

"You didn't come back."

Jet threw in a pinch of salt and stirred the pot again, a little more vigorously than was needed. "I thought you two could use some privacy."

She laughed. "Uh huh. Just being generous."

"Where's Longshot? Still recovering?"

"Something like that," she chuckled. Then she leaned in a little closer, he voice too low for anyone else to hear. "Seriously, though…you okay?"

"Fine," he said.

"Did you-?"

"No. Nothing happened." He glowered at her, his frown as deep as he could make it. "Nothing's _going_ to happen."

Smellerbee shrugged and patted him on the shoulder. "'Course," she said. "You do what you need to."

"This is all that's left," said Zuko. He'd finished his search of the pantry, and held a shriveled filet between thumb and forefinger. "Maybe if I cut it really small…"

"It's fine," said Jet stiffly. Smellerbee looked between them as Zuko set the fish down on his cutting board, but her mouth stayed shut.

The knock on the door came a few minutes later, when Jet was scraping Zuko's handiwork into the pot — Zuko was still a lousy cook, but he knew how to use a knife.

"I'll get it," said Zuko, wiping his hands on his apron. "It's probably Roo."

He slid the peephole cover aside — Roo knew to stand back far enough for them to be able to see her. But he didn't open the door. He only stared, frozen in place.

"Uncle?"

oOo

It took some time for Zuko to comprehend what was in front of him. Roo stood in her usual spot, just visible from the peephole and beaming confidently. "He said he knew you," she was saying, "so I asked him if he knew what your _real_ name was and he _did_, so I said I'd do the special knock for him."

Behind her stood a bearded man in a long, dark robe with four eggs cupped in his hands, smiling at Zuko from underneath the hood.

"May we come in?" said Uncle gently, and Zuko jumped a little, startled into action. Uncle handed the eggs back to Roo as Zuko fumbled with the lock, finally lifting the bar out of the way and pulling the door open so he could burst through it. The impact of his embrace was enough to send Uncle a few steps back, his arms around Zuko's midsection, face pressed against the front of his apron.

Roo, who had had the presence of mind to get out of the way, watched them curiously until Zuko had recovered enough to speak. "Why don't you go help Jet finish breakfast," he said hoarsely. "I'll be in in a minute."

"Okay," said Roo with a little shrug. She pulled the door closed with her foot, affording them some degree of privacy, but Zuko didn't even know what he wanted to do with it. He had no idea what to say. So much had happened since the day Uncle had gone, slipping through the city's borders while they were still in chaos. Where could he even start?

Uncle pulled back a little, though he gripped Zuko's upper arms as he did so. "You have told them, then?" he asked.

"I had to," said Zuko. "I had to Firebend. He would've died."

"Then you made the right decision," said Uncle. "But…they know more than that, it seems?"

Zuko's mind ran through all the reasons why, complicated rationales all twisted in on themselves. Only one seemed worth mentioning just then. "I'm tired of lying to people," he said.

Uncle nodded. "You were never very good at it."

"I'm not _that_ bad," Zuko protested, mostly out of habit.

Uncle smiled and led him over to the coal bin. They sat, each perched on a corner, elbows resting on their knees. "Tell me all that I have missed," said Uncle.

"Well…" Zuko frowned, unsure how to begin. "We've been fighting the occupation for a few months, me and Jet and the others. And Jin, she's still here. But everything's different now. There's an eclipse in a few days. And the Avatar's alive. He's invading the Fire Nation, and this guy asked us to go but I decided to…well, I'm here and I don't know, maybe I shouldn't be, maybe I should've tried to stop the invasion. But it didn't _feel_ like I should. It felt right to be here, so I stayed. And we're going to take back the city. And Jet said I could help but he's…" Zuko paused, torn between what he knew Jet probably thought of him and what he hoped might be true. "Things are complicated," he finished. He glanced over as his uncle, and was surprised to see the older man's eyes brimming with tears.

"I'm sorry," Zuko said quickly, "I'm sorry, I…you weren't here, and I didn't know-"

But Uncle raised one hand to quiet him. "We had heard of the invasion," he said. "Chief Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe sent us word of his plan. He calls it the 'Day of Black Sun.' He said a messenger had come here to ask for your help, and that you had declined." Uncle smiled, and his voice was thick when he went on. "I had hoped your reasons would be so honorable as these."

"But…Uncle, I didn't-"

Uncle rested a heavy hand on Zuko's shoulder. "You have come much further than your know," he said, smiling though his eyes were wet. "It is often difficult to find the right path, my nephew, but you did. You walked it all on your own. And I am so very proud of you."

Zuko frowned down at the cobblestones, his fingers laced together. He never knew how to respond when Uncle spoke to him this way — how to answer such earnest approval. Especially now, when that approval was so undeserved. "They're going to try to kill my father," he said, soft and halting, unused to saying these things aloud. "Shouldn't I…how is _not_ helping him the right thing to do?"

He glanced over at his uncle, in time to see the flicker of rage that passed over his features. "He has chosen his own path," said Uncle. "How it ends is no fault of yours. You have your own destiny, Prince Zuko."

Zuko bit his lip. "I thought my destiny was to capture the Avatar."

"That was the destiny my brother tried to force upon you," said Uncle. Zuko could hear an edge of anger in his voice. "But it was not his decision to make."

"Maybe, but…Uncle, I don't know," Zuko murmured, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I feel like I'm just being selfish. Like I'm hiding."

Uncle shook his head. "You have sacrificed a great deal to save this city and these people. If love played a part in that as well as justice, so be it. No man's reasons are wholly selfless, Prince Zuko. It is part of what makes us human." He stood, sniffed once and loudly and dusted off the back of his robes. "Now. Let us go inside and eat whatever it is that smells so delicious. The others will be here soon."

"Others?"

"You will see," said Uncle.

Jin opened the door this time, grinning broadly when she recognized Uncle and giving him a quick hug before moving aside to let them pass. In the time they'd been talking in the alley, the kitchen had filled with hungry Freedom Fighters hunched over bowls of porridge. Jet hadn't moved from the stove. He spooned out portions for those still waiting in line, his movements stiff and mechanical, not turning around as Zuko and his uncle came in. Ping, however, rose from the table and wove his way across the room.

"Uncle, this is Ping," said Zuko once he'd reached them. "Ping, this is my uncle, Iroh."

"The Dragon of the West," said Ping, his tone a strange mix of reverence and caution. A reminder that he'd grown up here, just as Jin had.

"That was a long time ago," said Uncle.

"Perhaps," said Ping. "But it isn't a name Ba Sing Se will soon forget."

"I have learned to respect this city and its walls." Uncle smiled and offered a small bow. "And its people as well."

A loud, derisive snort rose from near the table, and Zuko saw Gen stand. "Fuck this," he grumbled, not bothering to keep his voice down, and the room watched him stomp out of the kitchen.

Beside the stove, Jet put the ladle down and leaned against the counter, shoulders hunched and head low.

"Uncle," Zuko began, but as usual Uncle didn't need an explanation.

"Jin, perhaps you could introduce me to these young ladies and gentlemen?" he asked. She smiled and lead him over to the table, while Zuko moved to stand beside Jet.

Jet didn't look at him, but this close Zuko could see how tense he was, every muscle in his neck and jaw tight.

"Can I talk to you?" Zuko murmured. He glanced back over his shoulder, to where his uncle was beaming down at a cluster of runners. "Privately?"

"Fine," Jet snapped. Without meeting Zuko's eyes, he turned and stalked over to the stairway.

Zuko caught up with him at the end of the upstairs hall, as far from the noise and light of the kitchen as they could get without going into one of the store rooms. Jet faced the far wall, his arms crossed and his back to Zuko.

"What?" he said.

"I…" Zuko swallowed, hooking his thumbs into the ties of his apron. It helped remind him that he couldn't reach out, not now, no matter how much he wanted to. "It's my uncle. He says he has friends who want to help us."

"So?"

"So…I wanted to ask what you thought. If you want them to help or not."

"What difference does it make what I think?"

Zuko's grip on the apron tightened. He could remember a world in which he didn't care what Jet thought, but it seemed very far away. "You're our leader," he said. "It's up to you."

Jet took a long time to reply. "This is your uncle's teahouse," he said finally. "I can't kick him out."

"He'd go, if you asked him to," said Zuko. Uncle could be infuriating, true, but he would never stay where he wasn't welcome. And even Zuko could tell that he respected Jet too much to want to try.

"Guess so." Jet sighed and turned around, leaning back against the wall. "I'll listen to what your uncle and his buddies have to say, all right?" He didn't meet Zuko's eyes, but his tone had softened a little. "It's not like we can't use the help."

Zuko allowed himself a small smile. "All right."

That business done, they slipped into a nervous silence, not uncomfortable so much as wound too tight. With no words to distract him, Zuko became more aware of their physical situation: two bodies in an empty hallway with barely an arm's length between them. It would have been easy to close the distance, push him back against the wall and press their chests together. Maybe that was what Jet wanted, too.

Jet had been outside their room last night. The blanket was still on the floor where he'd left it that morning, a subtle testament to their weakness for each other.

But whatever Zuko might have said about it — and whatever reply Jet might have offered — would have to wait. The stairs creaked behind him, and the upper half of Ping's body appeared.

"General Iroh's men have arrived," he said.

"We'll be right down," said Jet. Even in the dim hall, Zuko could see him frown. "These friends," he said, once Ping had disappeared again. "They anyone you know?"

"Uncle didn't say. Maybe."

"Well." Jet shook himself a little, unfolding his arms and straightening his spine. "Let's go find out."

oOo

Jin had chased everyone out of the kitchen while Jet and Zuko were upstairs. Only she, Ping and Xue Sheng sat at the table, now, a steaming up of tea in front of each of them. Smellerbee and Longshot stood with their backs to the stairway, holding their own cups out for Zuko's uncle to fill from a chipped green teapot.

The strangers were just inside the kitchen door. Three men, all on the far side of fifty by the look of them, dressed in the same dark, nondescript robes.

Jet could tell on sight that two of them were Fire Nation. One looked almost familiar, like a face he'd seen on some wanted poster in the forest years ago — his white hair stood out in a halo around his face, and he glowered from beneath bushy eyebrows. The other had a sword on his back and a clean if severe look, his beard neatly trimmed and his hair pulled back in a topknot. Jet guessed he wasn't a bender, but then, he hadn't thought Zuko was a bender, either.

The third was just as obviously Water Tribe, the blue of his tunic visible above the neckline of his robe. Jet couldn't help wondering what he was doing here, so far from home and in this kind of company. But he didn't seem especially concerned about either — mostly he looked annoyed, eyes half-lidded and mouth creased into a frown as he examined his surroundings.

"Master Piandao?" said Zuko. He'd gone down the stairs first, so Jet couldn't see his face, but he sounded both surprised and pleased. "What are you…how did you get here?"

"On a boat," the man with the topknot replied, mild and a little amused. "And then an eel hound. It's been a long time, Prince Zuko."

Zuko took Jet by the arm, easy and unthinking, and Jet was startled enough that he didn't pull away. He let himself be guided across the room to where the old men stood. He was wearing the same light, short-sleeved tunic he'd gone to bed in the night before, and Zuko's hand felt warm against his bare skin.

"Jet, this is Master Piandao," said Zuko, excited and grinning. "He taught me swordsmanship when I was a kid."

"Jet," said Piandao, inclining his head slightly before turning back to Zuko again. "Your uncle tells me you've continued your studies on your own. I look forward to seeing your progress."

Zuko must have realized where his hands were, then, as he dropped Jet's arm very quickly, and looked sheepish as he addressed the next of the strangers, the one with the crazy hair. "You're…Admiral Jeong Jeong?" he asked, uncertain.

"Not an Admiral any longer," the man rumbled.

"He likes to say he was the first to leave the Fire Nation army and live," said Piandao, smiling slightly. "But I beat him by a year at least."

Jeong Jeong harrumphed but didn't dignify this with a reply, and Zuko's uncle chose that moment to step into the conversation, having filled every cup in the room. "They granted you leave in the beginning," he said, still holding the teapot in both hands. "I believe Jeong Jeong bested you on a technicality."

"Are you going to introduce me or shall I go and sit in the alleyway again?" the man from the Water Tribe drawled.

"Ah! Of course, forgive my rudeness," said Zuko's uncle. "Nephew, Jet, this is Master Pakku of the Northern Water Tribe"

Zuko's eyes widened a little. "Oh," he said softly. "Um…I'm sorry. I didn't-"

Pakku waved his hand dismissively. "Your uncle explained. But please, let's keep the kidnapping and desecration to a minimum this time, hmm?"

Zuko blushed to the roots of his hair. "Yes, sir."

The conversation went on like this, but Jet quickly lost the thread of it. He found it harder and harder to follow all the references to places he hadn't been, people he didn't know, events he'd only heard about yesterday as a part of Zuko's rambling narrative.

For most of his life, Jet had thought of himself as an adaptable kind of guy. He rolled with the punches life threw at him, sprung back to his feet after every hit, ready for the next one even while the last still stung.

But this was too much. He didn't want to be here, talking to these people. He wanted to go sit in some dark corner and wait for everyone to leave.

Jet felt the back of his neck, newly shorn, and remembered what Smellerbee had said, what she and Longshot were obviously thinking now from the looks on their faces. There was a part he had to play, here; appearances to maintain. He grimaced and forced himself to pay attention.

"The rest of our forces have made camp just inside the outer wall," Piandao was saying. "Iroh said you might have found new allies for us, which is why we came to see you ourselves. You're welcome to bring as many men as you like with you."

Zuko frowned. "Bring them where?"

"To the camp," said Jeong Jeong gruffly. "You cannot say here. It's a miracle you haven't been discovered already."

"We can't just leave," said Zuko. "We live here! We have…there's a whole system-"

"Prince Zuko, I have as much affection for this place as anyone," said Iroh gently. "But it is just a place. Your men will be safer-"

"They're not my men!" Zuko snapped. "They're…well half of them are girls, for one thing, and I'm not… Uncle, it isn't up to me!"

"Making the tough decisions is part of being a true leader," said Piandao.

Zuko blinked. "What? No, you…that's not how it works." He frowned and moved closer to Jet, thumbs looped into the ties of the apron he still wore. "Jet's in charge here, not me."

Everyone's heads turned to Jet then, which he was used to at least. The Fire Nation men looked particularly surprised, and he took some satisfaction in that.

"I don't know what… Iroh told you," he said, "but here's how it is. These are my Freedom Fighters…" Here, he made a gesture that took in his friends beside the stairs, those sitting at the table, and everyone waiting in the other room. "…And we already have a plan. If you wanna help, fine, we could use it. But this is our city. Our fight. I don't mean any disrespect, but you can't just show up and boss us around. We know what we're doing."

Pakku arched a thin, white eyebrow. "Do you, now?"

"Yeah, we do," said Jet, feeling a little better with something concrete to push back against. "The Fire Nation's stretched real thin, even with the new troops that just came in from Yue Liang. They can't patrol the whole city, so they stick to what's important — guarding whatever supplies they've got left and keeping an eye on the locals. Ba Sing Se's pretty rigid, you know? This area we're in now, it's all shops and restaurants. The looters got tired of it months ago, and the squatters can find nicer beds somewhere else. So the Fire Nation doesn't bother with this part of town. And even if they did, we've got four lookouts posted all the time, six at night, more if there's fog. Even the kids know how to shake tails and change their routes around." He crossed his arms and glowered at each of the old men in turn. "We're not stupid. If we were we'd be dead by now."

"You would," Jeong Jeong agreed, infuriatingly smug. "But arrogance can be every bit as dangerous."

"Yeah, well, you'd know wouldn't you?" Jet snapped.

"I know young pups like you have no patience for discipline."

"You don't know a fucking thing about me," Jet snarled. "You _Fire Nation_, you're all so-"

Zuko didn't say anything. He only turned his head, just enough to catch Jet's eye, and frowned. The same quiet reminder he'd given a hundred times before, when it couldn't wait until the others were gone. A warning of having gone one step too far.

Jet closed his mouth and swallowed. "I'm sorry,' he said, after waiting several breaths. "Look. You can stay here if you want, we'll find room for you. But we're not leaving."

The old men shared a meaningful glance.

"The eclipse is in three days," said Jeong Jeong. "I suppose we can hold this position for that long."

Piandao looked thoughtfully around the kitchen. "It would be nice to sleep under a roof again," he said. "Perhaps in a bed."

"The tea is better here," said Iroh. He smiled, his gaze taking in Zuko and Jet at once. "As is the company."

Jet knew that he should smile back, but he couldn't. "I've got some things to take care of," he said. "Ping and…Zuko can run you through the plan. And the teams. Whatever you want."

Zuko touched his elbow, his brow creased with worry. "Jet-"

"No," Jet whispered, jerking away.

The hand dropped, and Zuko closed his eyes for a moment before turning to where Smellerbee and Longshot stood, silent and watchful. "Why don't you give him a hand," he said.

"Sure," said Smellerbee. She and Longshot walked across the kitchen, convincingly casual, pausing only to thank Iroh for the tea.

Jet followed them into the main room, through the canvas halls, to the far corner where they slept. But he went inside the little square of almost-privacy on his own. And then he sat there on the floor, head in his hands, until it didn't hurt to breathe anymore.

oOo

Smellerbee was arguing with someone. Jet had calmed down enough to hear it above the sound of his own pulse. He raised his head to listen, combing a hand back through his hair to push it out of his face. Conversation usually carried just fine through canvas but she was keeping her voice down, now, her urgent tone the most that Jet could make out.

The other half of the argument didn't seem to care about being heard, and as Jet listened his volume rose to perfect clarity. "No, this is crazy. This is _crazy_!" Jet recognized Gen's voice — he was young enough that it still cracked at the edges. More of Smellerbee's quiet counter followed, which Gen impatiently cut through. "I'm not gonna be a part of this shit!"

Longshot had stayed and waited beside the little room where Jet had hidden himself, crosslegged on the marble floor. When Jet pushed the canvas hangings aside and made his way along the hall, the other boy fell in behind him, a cautious quality to his silence.

Gen's space was around the corner, several down from the infirmary, and that was where Jet found him. He had a threadbare knapsack open on the floor and was shoving handfuls of clothing into it as Smellerbee looked on.

"I know it's a lot," she was saying. "But we've all been through worse than this."

"Then you should know better," Gen snapped. He crammed a wad of bandages in with the rest, then closed the sack with a violent yank on its ties. "You need to get your fucking priorities straight."

Jet chose that moment to take the last steps forward, casting a shadow across Gen's back. "There a problem here?"

Gen stood, his chin high and defiant, the sack slung over his shoulder. "Yeah, there's a problem," he said.

"Wanna tell me about it?"

"You know."

"Humor me."

Gen frowned, as if considering whether or not to cross this line. Jet could see the moment when he decided he didn't care, nostrils flared and frown deepening, knuckles white as his fist clenched around the strap of his bag. "I came here because you said we'd kick the Fire Nation out of Ba Sing Se," he said. "So what the hell is going on?"

Longshot moved to stand beside Smellerbee, his hand briefly touching her back. The usual chatter of soldiers and runners at ease had died down entirely, and Jet knew without looking that a dozen pairs of eyes were on them, peering down from the hammocks and through the gaps in the makeshift walls.

Jet did not want to have this conversation. He didn't want to have to explain, to Gen or anyone else. He felt undone as it was, like the world was turning itself inside-out. The only way he could handle this shit himself was to pretend it wasn't happening.

But Gen was questioning his judgement, directly and in front of all his men. Too late to back down, now. "They're here to help," said Jet. "You know how it works. If you can help you can stay."

"They're Fire Nation. Fire_benders_."

"I fucking know that," Jet snapped. "You got a point you wanna make?"

"What the hell is wrong with you!" Gen shouted, his tone a mess of adolescent breaks. "What, did the Dai Li brainwash you or something? You forget what those bastards _did_ to us? He's the Prince of the fucking _Fire Nation_, you _told_ us that!"

"Look," Jet ground out. "We're fucked on our own. These guys say they want to help, and we _need_ them. So we'll let them help. That's just how it is, so get used to it or get out."

"You don't even know them!"

"Zuko does. He says they're all right."

"And you _believe_ him?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I just do."

"_Why?_" Gen took a step forward, his eyes narrowed. "Because he said so? Just like he said his name was Li?" He wasn't shouting anymore, but Jet had no doubt even the kids in the rafters could hear him.

If not for them, Jet would've punched him. He crossed his arms, fingers digging into his biceps. "Let's just leave him out of this," he said, low and dangerous.

"I would _love_ to leave him out of this! Do you…fuck, do you even _remember_ what he did?" Gen threw the bag down on the floor again and tugged furiously at the neck of his tunic, pulling it down to expose the mass of pus-soaked bandages beneath.

The Firebenders had cornered Gen at the Eastern Gate, cut him off from Wang and Dusty and backed him up against a wall. Jet had watched Xue Sheng clean and wrap the wounds later, a mess of blackened flesh that stretched across Gen's chest and down the length of his arm. He'd never be able to fight with that arm properly again.

"Look at this!" Gen shouted, flecks of spit on his lips. "He fucked us over, Jet. He fucked _you_ over."

Jet concentrated on keeping his voice even and his expression calm, conscious of every muscle in his face, the quiver of strain at his brow. The eclipse was three days away. He couldn't lose it now. "He made a mistake," Jet said. "We all make mistakes, Gen. You're making one right now."

"Am I? Really?" Gen laughed, a jagged high-pitched chuckle of disbelief. "He left us there to _die_. And maybe if you stopped thinking with your dick you'd see this was a _really fucking bad idea_!"

Jet felt pretty damn sure he was going to hit Gen, then. His hand had already curled into a fist, and he would've smashed it into Gen's jaw if Smellerbee hadn't stepped forward to place herself between them.

"I think you made your point, Gen," she said.

Gen snatched up his bag again, his eyes still on Jet, dark and full of rage. "You're gonna get all these people killed," he muttered.

"I'll do what I have to," said Jet. He could hear his own voice shake, as much as he fought to steady it. "You don't like it, you can leave."

Gen wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I was just about to."

He didn't go through the kitchen. He walked to the huge double-doors at the front of the main room, and the others watched silently as he lifted the heavy bar that kept them closed. Sunshine spilled across the carpet as he pushed the doors open, walked down the marble steps and out across the open square.

Jet had a wild, fleeting urge to run — past Gen, past the square, past the walls. To keep running until he felt grass under his feet and the air no longer reeked of coal and ash; until the sun was blotted out by leaves instead of overhanging roofs. Back to a place he didn't hate, where he still knew who he was and what the hell he was doing.

He walked stiffly to the door and pulled it closed, disused hinges creaking, and the bar fell back into place with a dull clunk of wood against iron. Smellerbee and Longshot were the only two people Jet could see, but he could hear a dozen sets of lungs working, a scattering of muffled whispers. Above him, hammocks creaked as their occupants shifted.

"I want the soldiers geared up and ready to train in fifteen minutes," he said. "We'll be out back, so I want the runners to set up a quarter-mile perimeter. Any sign of a patrol and we'll come in again, otherwise we'll go 'til we drop. If I hear any of you skipped out I'll send you after Gen to keep him company. That clear?"

He didn't wait for a reply and wasn't interested in one besides. He ducked into his friends' little corner again, long enough to strap on his armor and collect his swords. When he reemerged the others were well into their own preparations, though Smellerbee and Longshot stood in the hall, patiently waiting their turn to change behind the hangings.

Longshot met his eyes, and Jet flinched. "I'm fine," he said. He strode across the room, soldiers and runners scurrying out of his way, toward the open door to the kitchen.

Piandao and Xue Sheng were at the table, a Pai Sho game in progress between them. The older man's sword had been carefully leaned against his chair, and when Jet reached for it Piandao watched but didn't move to interfere.

"You know how to use this?" Jet asked, the slight deliberate.

"Well enough," said Piandao, his mildness not quite masking the steel beneath. Xue Sheng glanced mutely between them.

Jet tossed the sword back to him, and Piandao caught it effortlessly, the blade hardly rattling in its sheath. "Show me," said Jet.

"Students of the sword travel thousands of miles to seek my guidance," Piandao said conversationally. "Few prove to be worthy of it."

"Worthy, huh?" Jet allowed himself a sarcastic grin. "Yeah, well. I don't expect some Fire Nation master to think I'm worth much of anything."

"The way of the sword doesn't belong to any one nation," said Piandao. "A man's worthiness is tied to his heart, his mind and his spirit, not the soil on which he was born."

"We don't care much about worthiness around here," said Jet. "We care about getting shit done. So you can either help me train my men or you can find someplace else to sleep tonight."

Jet would've preferred the old man to get angry at him, and Xue Sheng clearly expected as much. But Piandao remained serenely unmoved as he pushed back from the table, the scabbard still in his hand. "Then let's begin," he said.

oOo

The square in front of the Jasmine Dragon was next to useless, too wide and exposed and easy to watch from a distance. The narrow streets and alleyways behind the teahouse were where the Freedom Fighters spent most of their time outdoors. They could train there unobserved and unmolested, and the terrain was more like their usual claustrophobic battlegrounds.

Jet could hear voices and the occasional roar of flame somewhere south of the kitchen door. So he turned and walked directly north, toward a courtyard he knew was just beyond the next building.

He'd left Longshot and Smellerbee in charge of the soldiers who didn't fight with blades, and told Xue Sheng to organize the shifts of lookouts. Wang would make sure the rest had their gear together by the time he got back. Normally he would've overseen all these things himself, but today he didn't think he could stay still for that long — every nerve buzzed with a need for movement, and his fingers itched to take hold of his swords and feel the sweat-soaked leather against his palms.

Piandao kept pace as they walked. He'd left his robes in the kitchen, revealing the long, black tunic he wore beneath, slits up either side showing flashes of red trousers. "You can't be the only swordsman," he said.

"We'll join the others later," said Jet. "I wanna know what I'm dealing with first."

Piandao chuckled, which Jet found completely infuriating. "Whatever suits you," he said as they stepped into the courtyard.

Jet knew what the others must be thinking, the questions they'd whisper as they got ready to train. Asking them to accept Zuko had been bad enough — at least they knew him, had some reason to trust his good intentions. But Piandao and the two Firebenders were strangers, and Jet still wasn't sure he trusted them himself. Of course Gen wasn't the only one who thought he was crazy. He felt crazy, standing in the courtyard with his swords in hand, moments before a friendly duel with a Fire Nation soldier.

He'd lost one man already today. How many more would follow? How many _could_ he lose before the balance tipped and the gamble no longer paid off? How many of his people were each of these intruders worth? He'd betrayed his countrymen before, not so long ago — traded them for a chance to drive the Fire Nation from his valley. He'd sworn never to make that great a sacrifice again. Yet here he was, abusing the trust of his men out of some desperate, tenuous hope that the ends would prove to be worth it.

One goal had lain at the heart of his life, driven him through the worst of times: the promise of one day making _them_ pay for all they'd done. The Fire Nation had raped and burned his country. The Fire Nation had stolen his family from him. The Fire Nation had passed beyond the point of redemption a hundred years ago, and every one of them carried the blood of murderers in their veins. He had always believed this. He'd slit the throats of boy soldiers and tortured old men with this truth as his only comfort. Anything was worth driving them out; they deserved whatever he did to them.

Piandao drew his long, straight blade, then crouched down with it pointed at Jet's chest, the sheath held out behind him.

Jet needed no other invitation. A snarl tore from his throat as he ran forward, hooked swords low at his sides until he jerked the right blade up toward Piandao's neck, the whole force of his momentum behind it. Piandao's expression remained unchanged as he knocked it away, his sheath coming up to block the next swipe, catching the hook of Jet's blade and twisting it smoothly out of his hand. Jet's arm darted out, catching it before it flew beyond his reach, but in that moment of distraction Piandao's sword found its mark at the side of Jet's throat.

"If you want to strike your opponent, let him strike you first," said Piandao, perfectly calm. "The moment you succeed in luring him to strike at you, you have already succeeded in striking him back."

Jet's reply was to plant his foot in the center of Piandao's chest, pushing the older man back a few stumbling paces as he firmed up his grip on his own blades. Piandao had barely retaken his stance when Jet rushed at him again, roaring in fury as his hooks carved shining arcs through the air. Still using the sheath as a second sword, Piandao deflected each attack with a minimum of effort, feet planted firmly on the cobblestones however much Jet tried to force him back.

"A warrior's mind should be the master of his spirit," said Piandao, voice wholly unchanged. "In swordsmanship, a solid stance may be said to serve as the mind, and the exchange of blows the spirit." He paused to duck beneath a wild swipe of Jet's blade. "He must learn to keep his spirit under tight control, rather than be dragged along behind it."

"What the _fuck_ does that mean?" Jet growled through clenched teeth, the crescent blade along his knuckles hurtling toward Piandao's face.

Piandao leaned back out of reach, then used the sheath to push Jet's arm past its natural follow-through, causing him to overbalance. "It means you should watch your footwork," he said, now waiting patiently for Jet to find his stance again.

Jet knew he shouldn't let this get to him. Piandao was a master sword fighter and he was being sloppy. But he was tired of staying calm, tired of being so fucking responsible, and as he fought his blades whirled at the boundaries of his control, on the edge of recklessness as he bellowed his frustration. He was good enough to know Piandao was going easy on him, exerting only the effort needed to turn Jet's blades away, and that knowledge fanned the flames that Gen's doubt had kindled. He wanted to cut this man. He wanted to smash his hilt into those serene, chiseled features, and watch the blood run down his face.

But Piandao didn't want that, and his desires were the arbiter today. The sheath made contact with the backs of Jet's knees, and as he fought to stay balanced Piandao's sword threaded through both hooks, pushed them in a smooth, high arc and smashed them down, pinned such that Jet would have to break his own blades to get them loose.

"Fine!" Jet snarled, letting go of the hilts so that his swords clattered to the ground. "Fine you win, all right? _You win._ I hope you fucking enjoyed it."

The older man pulled his sword from the ground, his eyes still on Jet as he sheathed it. "I'm a teacher," he said quietly. "If you learned something, then I'm satisfied."

"Whatever." Jet lifted the hilts with his toe, snatched them up and hung them carelessly at his belt. "Just…whatever. You can run the fucking drills, I don't care." He looked up, jaw aching from being clamped so tight, and saw that Piandao was watching him. "What?"

"You're angry," said Piandao, in the same tone one might use to discuss the weather.

"No shit," Jet snapped.

"No wonder you fought so poorly."

"Fuck you," said Jet, savoring the words. "I don't need some smug, Fire Nation asshole telling me how to fight. I've killed a hundred guys just like you."

"I don't doubt it," said Piandao, smiling a little. "I, too, was young and angry once. We Fire Nation assholes have a particular talent for it." Jet was too pissed to laugh, but the joke was unexpected enough to keep him from storming off. After a pause, Piandao went on. "It's easy to forget how much the world has changed in the last hundred years. Sozin's legacy did more damage than you might realize. He razed the Air Temples, started the war-"

"I know," said Jet. "I'm not stupid. I know who Sozin is."

Piandao waited a moment, as if to be sure Jet was finished. Then he continued as if there had been no interruption. "Sozin also lead his own countrymen astray in many ways," he said. "He told us we were the greatest of all Nations. He said that any means were justified in the pursuit of our glory. And always, even when he was newly crowned, he equated fury with strength."

"Not really seeing what this has to do with me," Jet muttered.

"Any man may be tempted to give in to his own anger," said Piandao. "It flares hot and fierce. It feels strong when it's all we have to ground us. But it burns quickly. And it leaves nothing but ashes behind. The true masters teach us that our inner fire can be fueled by love and hope as well as hate."

"I'm not a Firebender," Jet spat.

"You're a warrior," said Piandao. "All of us have a flame that burns in our hearts. A force that drives us." Piandao sighed and looked up at the sky, a narrow strip of blue dusted with clouds. "I realize I've tried your patience. But may I offer one further piece of advice?"

"Can I stop you?"

"Yes."

Feeling foolish, Jet paused then said, "Go on." An old man's words couldn't hurt him.

"The face of the enemy shifts and changes," said Piandao, still watching the clouds. "I would suggest that you think less about _who_ you're fighting and more about _what_ you're fighting for. "

"I'm fighting to save this city," said Jet.

Piandao met Jet's eyes again, his expression somber. "So am I."

They passed the short walk back in silence, neither man taking the lead. Wang and the others were waiting in a tight knot by the kitchen door, dressed in full armor with their swords strapped in place. They looked much younger at times like this, like children playing at war. But Jet was used to that by now. Things had always been this way for him.

"We don't have time for drills," he said, facing Wang but pitched for everyone too hear. "I want you to split up into pairs and fight some practice matches so Piandao here can see what you're made of. He's gonna help me kick you guys into shape so you don't end up dead in a few days. Got it?"

"Got it," said Wang, the others murmuring along.

But as they followed Piandao back to the courtyard, Jet leaned against the teahouse dumpster, eyes on the alley south of them.

"Jet?" Wang had hung back, watching him with a little frown.

"I'll come find you later," he said, grateful that Wang knew better than to ask any more questions. She jogged off after the others, and once she was out of sight he pushed off from the dumpster and started walking in the opposite direction.

The sounds of Firebending were gone but the voices were still loud enough to follow, mostly the harsh barks of that guy with the hair — Jeong Jeong, Jet remembered. His pace slowed as he got closer, like he was walking through mud. He stopped entirely just before the last bend.

"What are you doing, puffing your chest out like that?" Jeong Jeong was saying, his words a fierce staccato. "That kind of breathing is for battle. Pull the breath down into your gut. _Fill_ your lungs."

Jet leaned forward, just far enough to see the next stretch of alleyway. Zuko was shirtless and squatting down close to the ground, knees out and feet as far apart as his shoulders, all his attention focused on some small object he held. Jeong Jeong stood behind and to one side of him, hands clasped at the small of his back.

"This exercise is for beginners," Zuko grumbled. "I don't see why I have to -"

"Concentrate on your leaf!" Jeong Jeong snapped. "Your technique is a disaster. You have barely practiced in months."

"But I-!"

"_Concentrate!_ I don't know what you have been doing for these past three years, but it is a miracle you have not destroyed yourself by now. Or someone else," he added ominously. "So. We return to the basics. Perhaps you will learn them properly this time."

Jet backed away from the corner and leaned against the wall, palms flat on sun-warmed bricks. He closed his eyes and made himself listen. He had to get used to this.

He didn't move until he heard someone coming — from the direction of the teahouse, though in no particular hurry. He opened his eyes when the footsteps paused. The man from the Water Tribe, Pakku, was a few paces away, regarding him thoughtfully. "Waiting for someone?" he asked, his tone dry.

"Kind of," said Jet. He sighed and turned his head, peering around the wall again. Neither Zuko nor Jeong Jeong seemed to have heard them. "Just figuring some stuff out."

"You've chosen an odd place to think," said Pakku.

"I'm an odd guy."

"Clearly."

That could easily have been the end of it — Jet hadn't given him any reason to stay. But Pakku seemed to sense that something else remained unsaid. He waited as Jet watched Zuko squat and breathe in the alleyway, a thin line of smoke rising from the leaf clasped in his fingers. Eventually Jet looked away again.

"How do you stand it?" he murmured.

Pakku arched a white eyebrow. "Stand what, exactly?"

"They're Firebenders," said Jet. "They destroyed your sister tribe. How can you…I don't get how you can be okay with that."

"They're men," said Pakku. "And they're my friends. Old friends, if not always convenient ones."

"But they're _Firebenders_. That guy was an Admiral, right? I mean…" Jet ground his palms into his eyes and drew a long, unsteady breath. "Shit, the things he must have done…"

"And I suppose you've never done anything you're ashamed of?" Pakku drawled.

"That was different. I only did what I had to."

"I suspect the soldiers you killed would see it differently," said Pakku. He sighed, and when he spoke again, there was an odd quality to his voice — something like exasperation. "Do you know why that boy is still alive for you to stand here worrying about?" he asked. Jet knew it was pointless to try and deny that was what he was doing, so he didn't, and after a moment Pakku went on. "At the North Pole, he tried to kidnap the Avatar. Dragged him out across the ice in a middle of a blizzard."

"Yeah, I know," said Jet quietly. "He told me."

"When the Avatar's friends came, they wanted to leave him behind. He'd been chasing them for months by then. Life would've been much easier if they'd left him there to die alone in the snow."

"Yeah," said Jet. Zuko had been pretty vague regarding that day, and until now Jet hadn't really thought about it. Now he pictured Zuko lying facedown in the drifts, blue with cold and perfectly still, and shivered. "I guess…Aang wasn't having it."

"No," said Pakku. "Aang wasn't having it. So they dragged their worst enemy up into their bison's saddle and carried him back to the city."

Jet's arms fell back to his sides. "Maybe Aang's a better man than me, then," he murmured.

"Someone has to be the first to forgive," said Pakku, all his dry levity gone. "Aang chose to break that cycle. And so did I."

Jet looked down at his boots; the blades of grass between the paving stones. Behind him, Jeong Jeong was lecturing Zuko again — it seemed his feet were too close together and his breathing still too high in his chest. Jet could almost imagine they were talking about something else. Something innocent and safe. "Why are you telling me this?" he whispered.

"You asked a question," said Pakku. "All I did was answer."

Jet stood with his head bowed as Pakku walked past him, not turning the corner but continuing on to some unspecified errand beyond it. Jeong Jeong had finished his lecture, and the alleyway was eerily quiet. Jet could hear Zuko's breath if he held his own, a deep, even rasp drawn through his nose and exhaled between pursed lips. Some distance away, Wang and the others had started their bouts, the metallic clang of swords echoing off the walls.

Zuko's head snapped up as soon as Jet came into view, a broad grin spreading across his face. "Jet-!" he called, but whatever he'd meant to say was cut off when his leaf burst into flame. He dropped it with a yelp, flapping his singed fingers.

"_Concentrate!_" Jeong Jeong snapped, whacking Zuko soundly on the back of the head. He pulled another leaf from his sleeve, burnt a small hole in its center with his fingers and handed it down to his student.

"Sorry," Zuko muttered, though his eyes still followed Jet as he walked a bit farther along the alleyway and sat down on a set of low, stone steps.

"Do you need something?" Jeong Jeong asked, clearly irritated.

"No," said Jet, with a nonchalance he didn't feel. "I was just gonna watch for a while."

"Fine," said Jeong Jeong. The matter settled, he returned his attention to Zuko. "Now. Remember that fire is hungry. It wants to consume whatever it can, to burn until nothing remains. You must push back against that hunger. _Force_ the flame to starve. You must become its master. If you can prevent it from devouring this leaf, you take first step toward denying it your soul as well."

"Yes, Master Jeong Jeong," Zuko muttered, finally tearing his eyes from Jet and refocusing on the new leaf between his hands.

Jet drew his legs up against his chest, watching the faintly glowing borders of the hole Jeong Jeong had made, and forced himself to think about it. This was Firebending. Li's name was Zuko, and he was a Firebender. He'd melted the chains under the lake. He'd captured flame with his swords in the warehouse. He kept this leaf from burning.

Jet lifted his eyes to Zuko's face, delicate features tense with the effort of his task, the scar a strange wasteland of expression. He swallowed as his gaze moved along Zuko's body, over wiry muscle drawn taut beneath skin that shone with sweat. He remembered how that skin had tasted. He remembered how it had felt as it slid against his own.

Li hadn't died beneath the lake. Li had never existed. Zuko was the boy that Jet had loved, always himself whatever name he used. Zuko was standing here now, alive and eager and beautiful. And even though he had lied, even though he was the Fire Lord's son, Jet still wanted him. He wasn't sure he had ever stopped.

Jet closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his knees. There wasn't much time left. He was going to have to decide what to do, before fate and circumstance decided for him.

oOoOo


	7. Under Your Skin Feels Like Home

oOoOo

Master Jeong Jeong's dissatisfaction only grew over the course of the afternoon, and Zuko wished fervently that Uncle was training him instead. It wasn't just that Jeong Jeong had confined Zuko to exercises meant for children — the whole tone of it all was unsettling, reminding Zuko of his years with the royal Firebending tutors at the palace. A few had been kind, but they were quickly dismissed by the Fire Lord as too soft. Those that remained had been openly frustrated with Zuko's inability to master techniques as quickly as his sister did, and for most of his childhood he'd been driven as much by a desire to prove them wrong as by any actual interest in the art of bending.

He'd resented being thought of as useless, but he'd accepted long ago that he would never be exceptional. It didn't matter how hard he'd trained or how desperately he'd struggled. Unlike his sister, he'd never been particularly good at anything, and he doubted he ever would be. Good _enough_, maybe, but that was all.

But Jeong Jeong didn't seem interested in good enough, and for hours he paced their stretch of alleyway and nitpicked every detail of Zuko's technique. First with the leaf, forced into quiet smoldering, and then with a tiny ball of flame, the size and heat of which Zuko had had to precisely maintain for over an hour. Thankfully, Jet had gone by then, called away to help Piandao with the swordsmen. Much as Zuko enjoyed being around him again, Jet's absence made it easier to concentrate on what he was doing. That, and he was still reluctant to Firebend so obviously in front of the other boy. He had no idea what Jet might do — maybe what he couldn't help doing, after everything that had happened to him.

Zuko could understand that, of course. A lot had happened to him, too.

The sun was long-set and the sky dark when Jeong Jeong finally relented. "You've exhausted your chi," he muttered, arms crossed. "We will continue this tomorrow. I expect you to meditate on what you have learned in the meantime."

Zuko rose up out of his crouch, thighs sore and trembling from so many hours of effort. He pulled on his shirt, shook his legs out as best he could, and was only a little unsteady as they walked back to the Jasmine Dragon, neither bothering to make conversation. The moon was high enough that Zuko suspected dinner was over already, but he could still smell something savory drifting through the shutters, and buttery light spilled out from beneath the door.

Two short, four long, then rapid footsteps before Jin threw the door open. "Li! Ha ha, I mean _Zuko_!" she said, laughing off her own mistake as she stood aside. "I was just about to come find you! You hardly ate any breakfast, you must be starving." She turned to Jeong Jeong, who was glowering suspiciously at the bubbling pot on the stove. "Iroh's putting your things upstairs right now. We made some space in the middle store room for all of you."

"It'll be a bit crowded," said Piandao, who was seated at the kitchen table with Pakku. "But at least it has a roof."

"And a door," said Pakku. He sipped the bowl of soup he held in both hands. "And it's on solid ground. Anything's better than the hold of a ship."

Jin reached for another bowl and ladled a serving of thin soup into it. "Did it take you long to get here?" she asked as she handed the bowl to Jeong Jeong.

"I was with the Southern Tribe when Iroh sent word," said Pakku "A week to reach the mainland, another on the back of an Ostrich Horse-"

"Two weeks from the Fire Nation, sleeping in a metal bunk," said Piandao.

"I cannot believe the two of you are complaining about your beds," Jeong Jeong grunted as he took his place at the table.

"Perhaps you'll volunteer to take the floor, then," said Uncle, who had appeared at the head of the stairway, Ping and one of the Earthbenders just behind him with their arms full of crates. Zuko saw, now, that most of the space under the table had been filled with dusty piles of junk, which the crates were added to, Piandao moving his legs to make room.

"Thank you, Shi Kuai," said Uncle, smiling at the younger Earthbender. "These old bones are tired after so long on the road."

Shi Kuai glanced quickly at Ping, as if seeking guidance. "Oh…it's ah, not a problem, sir," he said. "Happy to help."

Jin ladled out a another bowl of soup, offering it to Zuko this time. "Space is getting pretty tight," she explained. "We had to put a few things in your room, too. Sorry."

"It's fine," he said. He took a long, deep gulp of hot broth, savoring the feel of it as it rushed down his throat and filled his empty stomach. "Where's Jet? Has he come back in yet?" He tried to keep the question casual, his eyes still on the bowl.

"Wang said he wanted to train a little longer," said Jin. "Don't worry, I'll save some dinner for him."

Zuko blushed as he nodded, then turned to find a place at the table with the others, hesitating a little before finally settling for a chair next to Piandao, which put as much space as possible between himself and Jeong Jeong. Shi Kuai disappeared into the loft again, but Uncle, Ping and Jin settled into the empty seats that remained, and for a time they all ate in amiable silence.

Warm soup in his stomach and his uncle's familiar outline beside him, Zuko had a brief moment of contentment, his exhaustion dissipating into a manageable ache that lacked any urgency. He'd eat, and then maybe he'd bring Jet his dinner. He knew how Jet could be when he was stressed like this — he'd probably forget to eat entirely unless someone hounded him about it. Zuko didn't mind that responsibility at all. He'd missed it, really — that feeling of being depended on, however trivial the details.

Uncle downed the last of his soup and smacked his lips appreciatively. "An excellent meal, Jin. I am glad to have left my kitchen in your capable hands."

"These days, I'm glad I _have_ a kitchen," she said. "So I guess we're even, then."

"Indeed!" Uncle chuckled. He leaned back in his seat, smiling as he turned his head toward the main room. "It warms my heart to see this place so full of life."

"Well, it's all thanks to Zuko, really," said Jin lightly. "The rest of us wouldn't be here if it weren't for him."

"I suppose not," said Uncle, with a roughness in his voice that caused Zuko to look up sharply from his bowl. But Uncle's eyes were dry, and his tone smoothed out as he went on. "How was your training today, Nephew?"

Zuko started to glance over at Jeong Jeong, but caught himself just in time. "Fine," he said.

Jeong Jeong snorted. "It was anything but 'fine!' You technique is in shambles and your spirit is dangerously unfocused. I do not know how you expect him to survive in this state."

Zuko scowled. "I've survived fine not Firebending at all," he grumbled. "And it's not like I'll be able to bend during the eclipse anyway."

Jeong Jeong's empty bowl hit the table with a bang, making the others jump. "Your destiny does not end with the eclipse!"

"Surely you're being a little hard on him," said Piandao, frowning slightly. "He doesn't-"

"Do you think Princess Azula will hesitate to be _hard_ on him?" Jeong Jeong snapped. "She may lack the raw power of her father, but her skill is nearly unmatched. As he is now, Prince Zuko will not last a minute against her, let alone-"

"My sister isn't here," said Zuko, cutting across him, not caring any more about disrespecting his elders. Jin and Ping were both looking at him in that way he'd grown to hate in the past few days — like they'd just remembered who he really was. "She left," he said. "A long time ago."

"Of course she is not here!" Jeong Jeong barked. "She is in the Fire Nation, biding her time."

"Yeah, and I'm in Ba Sing Se, so what the hell does it matter to me what she's doing?"

Jeong Jeong stared at him, his frown now more perplexed than angry. "Even if the Avatar manages to defeat the Fire Lord, your sister is far too clever to allow herself to fall as well. She will seize power, and you will have to wrest it from her hands."

"What?" Zuko knew he must have looked ridiculous, sitting there with his mouth hanging open, but for a moment he couldn't help it. That wasn't at all what he'd expected Jeong Jeong to say, and it took some time to absorb its meaning; more still to figure out how to respond. "Look I don't…" He took a breath and tried again. "I'm supposed to be here. That's what Uncle told me, that I should stay here and fight. The Fire Nation doesn't even care about me anymore, why should I-"

"Because it is your _duty_! You are the heir to the throne, you cannot simply-"

"We have all had a long day," said Uncle, steel beneath his airy tone as he cut Jeong Jeong off. "Perhaps this conversation would be better served by rest and the time to reflect."

A thick, uncomfortable quiet blanketed the room. No one looked at Zuko, but he could feel the effort of that avoidance, and wished he had the first idea what to do about it. Jet would have known just the thing to say, how to smooth the sharp edges and get everyone laughing again. Zuko could only wait for this awkward gap to close on its own.

Jin stood with all the appearance of spontaneity and started to collect the empty bowls. "I'll put on some water for tea," she said. "Ping, could you help me with the dishes?"

Ping stacked up the remaining bowls, solemn as always, and followed her over to the sink. The rest of them sat and listened as he pumped water into the basin, a steady rhythm of metal and liquid.

"Piandao," said Uncle with determined cheer. "How were the young swordsmen?"

"Better than expected," said Piandao gamely. "Jet and Zuko seem to have trained them well, if a little informally. I'm looking forward to continuing tomorrow."

Zuko pushed back from the table and walked over to the stove. Piandao continued speaking as Zuko filled another bowl and made his way toward the door, concentrating on his stride so it wouldn't spill. He could feel the weight of Jeong Jeong's words bearing down on him, the air in the kitchen still heavy with the tension they'd caused.

"They're quite young, but as brave as any warriors I've known," Piandao was saying. "Their camaraderie has been inspiring to see."

The door was only a few steps away, now, promising relief. And more, perhaps, although Zuko tried to ignore the swell of hope in his chest.

Ping dried his hands and moved to open it for him. "Careful," he said. Zuko didn't think he meant the soup.

oOo

He found Jet in the small courtyard a few turns away from the kitchen door — the first place he thought to look. The moon was bright, the world beneath it thrown into deep contrast. Jet was doing pushups on the ground, hands and toes placed carefully among the cobblestones. He'd stripped off his armor and outer tunic, which all lay with his swords in a careless pile against the wall. His thin undershirt was plastered to his back with sweat, rivulets running down his jaw and along the straining muscles of his arms. The night was warm but not hot, the air pleasantly dry — he'd been at this a long time.

They'd spent many hours here over the course of the summer, teaching the kids how to hold a sword and throw a punch and flip a man twice their size. Later, after the others had all gone in for dinner, the two of them had often lingered, Jet whistling to the sentries to ask for a little privacy. Sometimes it hadn't really been necessary, but more often by far, it had.

Tonight, Zuko knew, would not pick up the threads of that old pattern. And as he waited for Jet to finish, heart fluttering a little as he watched, he tried to push his own, wild hopes down into the pit of his stomach.

After another dozen reps or so, Jet pulled his feet back under him and stood. He tugged his shirt out of his belt and used it to wipe his face; when he let it go again it hung open, revealing a vertical stripe of bare skin.

"Do you need something?" he asked tonelessly. He didn't look at Zuko, his eyes hidden by his hair.

Zuko's mouth felt very dry. He licked his lips before he spoke, the bowl clutched in his hands. "I brought you dinner."

"Oh," said Jet. He came a little closer and took the bowl in one hand when Zuko held it out to him. "Thanks." Zuko watched him bring it up to his lips, head tilting back as he took a long, deep drink. His throat moved as he swallowed, the whole length of his slender neck exposed, a terrain Zuko knew very well.

Zuko tried to think of something to say. He realized his mouth was hanging slightly open, flushed a little and shut it. He couldn't just stand here staring, but no words came to him. Only flashes of impulse, each less wise and more tempting than the last.

"There something else?" Jet asked, wearily curious.

"I…" Zuko's cheeks burned, his eyes determinedly focused on the ground. He knew exactly what else he wanted, but what he could ask for was another matter entirely. "Were you going to be here much longer? Um…you know. Like this."

Jet sighed, and Zuko imagined he rolled his eyes a little, too. "Yeah, I was gonna keep training for a while. That a problem?"

"No! No, I just…" Jet hadn't moved away, and Zuko could feel the heat rising off his skin. "Today's been so crazy, and I thought…You know, if you…" He paused, forcing himself to breathe normally. "If it's okay maybe we could spar. A little."

"Spar?"

"Yeah. You know, like…" _Like we used to_, he thought, though he knew better than to say it. Jet wouldn't need him to, besides. He'd remember the evenings they'd spent out here as well as Zuko did. "Just for practice."

"I'm not a Firebender," said Jet, his voice gone flat again. "I don't know what you think I can do for you."

"I won't be a Firebender, either, for eight minutes," said Zuko. "Besides, it's…" He rubbed his neck, which felt hot beneath his palm. "I should know anyway, right? How to fight like you do."

"Like I do," Jet echoed, no hint of an opinion in his tone.

"Yeah," said Zuko quietly. "It's not like bending's the best way to handle everything."

Jet didn't reply right away. After a few seconds had passed, Zuko chanced looking up at him again. Jet was frowning down at the last few drops of soup, his bottom lip between his teeth.

"It's not," he said finally. He sounded surprised, though Zuko hadn't a clue what about.

The bowl was set down next to the pile of armor, Jet's shirt following a moment later. His skin glistened as he turned to cross the courtyard, muscle and bone shifting beneath it, every indent and curve defined by blue shadows.

Zuko's mouth was open again, his chest tightening with each shallow breath. Jet was so beautiful. How had he ever gotten used to this, ever spent a moment in this boy's company without reaching for him — touching some part of that body, some sliver of exposed skin?

Jet had taken his place and Zuko moved to do the same, knees bent and arms raised in front of him. The hope he'd so carefully contained now boiled in his stomach, hot and urgent. "Ready?" he murmured, afraid his full voice would shake.

"Yeah," said Jet.

Zuko was the first to move, a sudden release of tension that sent him hurtling across the courtyard. Jet ducked under the arc of his fist, twisted as his own leg swept along the ground to kick Zuko's out from under him. Zuko landed hard but rolled to his feet, just in time to see Jet's fist coming at him. He caught it, turned and pulled it over his shoulder, Jet's chest against his back as Zuko threw him.

Jet landed on his feet, lithe and slick and always moving, already running forward again as Zuko regained his own balance. He turned Jet's fists aside with his forearms, stepped back awkwardly as Jet moved to take advantage of the gaping holes in his defense. He saw a half-dozen chances to grab Jet's arm again, twist him around and pin him, but he let them all pass by. He didn't trust himself to hold Jet that close and not do something he shouldn't.

Even this was too close. Zuko could smell his hair; see the delicate curve of his collar bone, begging to be tasted. He felt himself stiffen and wished his pants weren't so damn thin, wished he hadn't been so stupid as to think he could handle this, that he could concentrate on anything at all when Jet's dark, slippery body was less than an arm's length away.

They'd practiced like this so many times that the movements themselves were automatic, leaving his mind free to wander. He thought of the coiled strength in Jet's arms, the fleeting touches as he knocked Jet's blows away, the sweat that ran along Jet's temple and down the cords of his neck.

Weeks ago, on a night when Zuko had felt this way, he'd have had Jet under him on a pile of their clothes by now, ankles crossed at the base of his spine as Jet drew him in and held him close. Like he'd drawn Zuko into this city — this life and all its tangled responsibilities.

The war was important. Saving the city was important. He'd told Jet he would fight for these things, and he'd meant it. But here in this courtyard, his body flowing through familiar rhythms as he drowned in the sight and smell of the other boy, he knew that Jet was every bit as important as anything else. Maybe more, in some selfish corner of his heart. Jet had drawn him in and Zuko had gladly surrendered to it — would do so again, if Jet would only let him.

Jet stopped so suddenly it took Zuko's strained perception a moment to react, his arm coming up to block a nonexistent punch. Feeling ridiculous, he let both arms fall and rose out of his stance, skin burning all down his neck and to the tips of his ears.

"Your technique's a mess," said Jet. The monotone had started to waver, and his eyes were fixed on the middle of Zuko's chest. "You're always on the defensive, and you're leaving your right side open."

"I'm sorry," Zuko murmured, breathing hard from more than exercise.

"Don't apologize. Just…look." Jet stepped closer, took Zuko's wrist and lifted it so that his forearm was at a right angle to the ground. "You keep blocking me like this," he said, miming a punch and moving Zuko's arm so that his own was deflected inward. "But that gives me time to come in during the follow-through. You have to knock me off-balance, give yourself some room to move." This time, Jet's arm was sent outward. Zuko tried to concentrate on what he was saying, instead of the feel of Jet's fingers on the soft skin of his wrist.

"Got it?" Jet asked. He was still holding Zuko's arm, positioned between them such that Zuko's fingers were inches from his face. All Zuko would have to do was flex them, just slightly, and they would brush against Jet's cheekbone. A little further, and they'd slide into the hollow behind Jet's ear.

Seconds passed. Jet looked up into Zuko's eyes, his dark and unreadable in the moonlight, arched brows knit above them. Zuko could feel Jet's breath against his skin, quicker than it had been a moment before. He wondered if Jet could feel the rapid thrum of his pulse. He was so hard, now, aching in the confines of his clothes. Jet had to have noticed. How could he _not_, when they'd been like this so many times before?

In the end, it was Zuko's thumb that moved. It brushed against the swell of Jet's bottom lip, over the rough patches where Jet had bitten them. He expected to have his hand slapped away, but Jet didn't stop him. He only exhaled, slow and shuddering.

In the perfect stillness of the courtyard, Zuko's mouth made a soft, wet sound as he opened it to speak. "I think I should go back inside," he whispered.

He could feel Jet's lips move beneath his thumb. "Why?"

"I just…" He swallowed, his mind racing through explanations. There were none, except a vague and gnawing panic. "I just think I should."

Jet shifted his weight forward, and a hot, hard bulge pressed against Zuko's hip. "You don't have to," he said.

It took all that remained of his concentration to answer. "Jet…" he murmured, hoarse with how badly he wanted this. "Are you-"

"Yes," said Jet.

His grip tightened as Zuko cupped his jaw, ran his thumb along Jet's cheek to the tuft of sideburn in front of his ear. He didn't flinch or pull away. He only closed his eyes as his free hand settled on Zuko's waist, holding him close to the insistent heat between them.

With excruciating slowness, Zuko dipped his head down. He felt sure that Jet would change his mind, but the other boy stayed still and silent as lips pressed against his neck. The only sound was their rough, shallow breathing; the wet crackle of Zuko's mouth as it moved, forging a path of careful kisses along the sharp line of Jet's jaw, itchy with stubble and tasting of salt and dust.

He kissed the corner of Jet's mouth, raised his other hand and slid his fingers into the hair at the nape of Jet's neck, shorter than he remembered it being in a way his eyes hadn't noticed. "Jet," he whispered, the word a puff of air against Jet's skin.

Jet's answer was to turn his head, tongue flickering out to taste Zuko's lips. An electric jolt of desire ripped through Zuko's body, burned away what remained of his control. Mouths opened, delicate kisses dissolving into a frantic, breathless rush of lips and tongues and clicking teeth. Jet released Zuko's wrist and cupped the back of his skull, fingers twisted into his hair, holding him as the kisses deepened, the other hand sliding beneath Zuko's belt as their hips ground together.

Not enough. After so long, it wasn't nearly enough, and Zuko moaned his encouragement as Jet tugged at the knot that held his belt in place. His tunic fell open as the belt dropped to the ground, Jet's eager fingers skimming around his ribs and down his spine. Zuko reached between them, hand closing around Jet's erection through the rough fabric of his pants, a spot of moisture against his palm. Jet groaned and kissed him harder, pushed his waistband down and squeezed his ass.

Two weeks of not being able to touch this boy, and now Zuko wanted to touch all of him at once, clumsy in his eagerness to get Jet's pants out of the way. The ache between his legs and the ache in his chest fed back into each other, an echoing loop of hunger for Jet's mouth and his smooth, slick skin. He stroked Jet in a steady rhythm, shuddering with every small sound of need he coaxed from Jet's throat and drunk on the scent of their arousal.

He gasped as Jet freed him from the confines of his underwear, the night air cool on his skin for only a moment before Jet's hand wrapped around him. This was what he'd wanted, what he'd missed, what he'd lain awake remembering in the time they'd spent apart. To be this close to another person, voices and sweat and spit mingling, the world vanishing outside their bodies and the moonlight.

Seventeen years old, and he'd never understood. Part of him still didn't, still lacked the words for what this was: this thing that pressed against his ribs, terrifying and wonderful and so far outside the life he'd known before.

He spilled into Jet's hand — all wet heat and long fingers — his moans swallowed by Jet's mouth. And as Jet followed him, silent and shuddering, a heady certainty washed over him, so strong that he had to grab Jet's shoulder to keep himself on his feet.

This was real and it was important. It didn't matter if the words still escaped him, if he couldn't name this force that had twisted up into his gut. It _mattered_, whatever it was. And he would never let go of it again.

oOo

A part of Jet wanted to feel guilty about this, disgusted with himself and what he'd done. The same part that had never really left the forest behind, that still dreamed of the smell of burnt flesh and had once sacrificed a village to kill a handful of soldiers. But those days had never felt so distant as they did tonight. The dead were long since dust, the village washed away. Zuko was right here, standing next to him, the taste of his mouth and body still fresh on Jet's tongue.

Jet shifted his weight uncomfortably, unsure what to do with himself while he waited. It had only taken a few seconds to pull his pants back up and cinch them in place, but Zuko was still trying to brush the dirt off his own tunic, a sheepish little grin on his lips. Jet gathered up his armor and swords, bundled them in the clothes he hadn't bothered to put back on and stuffed it all under one arm. He didn't see much of a point in anything beyond the bare minimum of decency — probably Jin was the only one still awake, and she could always tell regardless.

Zuko finished retying his belt and looked up, his smile wide and honest and his eyes pale silver in the moonlight. Jet remembered the first time they'd had sex outdoors: a hurried tryst on the roof of some outer ring warehouse, back when the other boy's name was "Li" and he still kept all his secrets. He'd looked just like this afterward, embarrassed but no less pleased for it, his unscarred cheek flushed pink. Jet had found that look irresistible. He still did, and before he could think better of it he took a quick step forward.

Zuko made a small, startled sound as Jet kissed him. It felt so good to kiss Zuko again. Good enough that it unnerved Jet a little, his back tensing as he pulled away. "We should go in," he muttered vaguely.

If Zuko noticed the change he didn't comment on it. If anything, his smile was even goofier as they walked back to the kitchen door. He kept sneaking sideways glances, his ears now just as red as his cheeks. Fuck, he was adorable. How the hell could he be the prince of anything, let alone the Fire Nation? Jet tried to imagine him sitting on a throne, dressed in brocade robes with a crown tucked into his hair, and almost laughed out loud despite his mood. The idea was ludicrous.

Iroh answered the door, looking tired but affable enough. He'd changed into the sort of light, cotton robes one usually slept in, and his feet were bare on the kitchen floor. "I trust your exercises went well," he said softly, taking the empty soup bowl from Zuko's hands. Jin was asleep at the table behind him, her head pillowed on her folded arms and the ledger still open in front of her.

Jet wasn't sure he'd ever seen Zuko turn quite this red. "They went fine," Zuko said shortly.

Iroh must have been feeling merciful, as he didn't press his nephew any further. Instead he turned his cheery smile toward Jet. "I'm sorry you couldn't join us for dinner," he said. "Master Piandao was telling us how much you have accomplished here."

Jet shifted the bundle in his arms, feeling awkward. "We all do what we have to, I guess. No big deal."

"Perhaps," said Iroh. "But he does not give such praise often or easily. I believe he admires your spirit." He smiled a little wider. "And your convictions."

"Sure," Jet mumbled. He had no idea what to say to something like that, or how he even felt about it. That morning, he probably would've been pissed — what the hell did some arrogant Fire Nation prick know about him? But now he wasn't so sure. The whole world was shifting under him, along with his place in it.

"As for you, Prince Zuko," Iroh rumbled, winding the knot in Jet's gut even tighter. "Do not let Master Jeong Jeong's words distress you. His intentions are good, however he, ah…_expresses_ them."

Zuko looked every bit as uncomfortable as Jet felt. Maybe more so, his shoulders hunched up past the level of his jaw. "I guess."

Iroh reached out to squeeze his upper arm. "When the time comes, you will be ready," he said quietly. "Of that, I am certain."

Jet watched Iroh climb up into the loft, the stairs groaning under his weight. A decision loomed, but he wasn't yet ready to make it. Instead he went to where Jin was sitting and gently shook one of her shoulders. She started a little, eyes fluttering open as she jerked up from the table. She had a red mark on one cheek from where it had been squashed by her arm. "Sorry," she said muzzily, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms.

"Hey," he said gently. "Go to bed, okay? You're no good to me if you don't sleep."

Jin made a face and wiped away a trickle of moisture at the corner of her mouth. "How am I good to you when I'm awake, exactly?" she asked, a little wry.

Jet chuckled. "Someone has to keep Sheng out of my hair, right?"

Jin rolled her eyes as she stood. "Right," she said. She sounded more alert, the haze of sleepiness lifting as she looked between Jet and Zuko and took in the state of their clothes. "Right," she said again, though now she was trying rather obviously not to smile. "Well, I'll be going then."

"Don't let us sleep in," said Jet, as casually as he could manage. Jin tossed off a salute, collected her brush, ink and ledger and ducked into the other room. Which left Jet and Zuko alone again, staring at each other in the dim lantern light.

"It's pretty late," Zuko murmured.

"Yeah," said Jet. He reached up to finger the half-healed burn on his neck, still sensitive under hard scabs. "Yeah, I guess we should go to bed."

Zuko's eyes flickered toward the stairs and back, so transparently hopeful that it made Jet's throat close a little to see it. He raised a hand to touch the side of Zuko's face, fingertips brushing the fringe of his scar. Zuko closed his eyes for a moment, nostrils flared as he took a deep, slow breath. His hair was a mess, and Jet could see the small, pink crescents where he'd nipped the delicate skin of Zuko's neck.

"All right," said Jet, as much to himself as to Zuko. The old instincts told him he was giving up, allowing himself to be seduced by the promise of normalcy and a warm body beside him. But Jet was tired of fighting, tired of rage and of standing alone with only his principles for comfort. He wasn't in the forest anymore.

He took a lantern down from the wall and started walking up the stairs before he could change his mind. A moment later, he heard the creak of Zuko's footsteps as he followed.

Their room was even more cramped than usual, crates stacked against every bit of wall the shelves didn't cover, such that only a few square feet of floor space remained. Jet hung the lantern on a nail just inside the door, then Zuko stood quietly in the hall as he put his armor away, right beside Zuko's in its usual spot. He hesitated after that, debating his options. But he wasn't really the bashful type, and after what they'd just done in the courtyard it seemed stupid to be shy. He left his underwear on but the rest of his clothes were stuffed between the canisters of tea. Then he sat down on the bed, swinging his legs up off the floor to make room.

Even though he'd seen the other boy naked hundreds of times, and even though the two of them had jerked each other off less than a half hour ago, Jet's mouth went a little dry as Zuko closed the door and began to undress. His body was amazing, and Jet never got tired of looking at it. He could have pushed the complications aside, then, and let the sight of Zuko's bare skin seduce him into forgetting what lay beneath it — who he really was and what he could do.

But Jet didn't want to forget those things. He didn't believe in loving part of a man, the rest cordoned off by self-deception. That wasn't how he wanted to live. He watched as Zuko carefully folded his clothes, his face in profile so that it was mostly scar tissue and a small frown of concentration. And again he forced himself to see the truth of it: this boy, his lover and his second in command, was a Firebender.

He waited for the old panic to resurface, for the bile to rise in his throat. Neither came. His heartbeat quickened and the walls seemed closer than they had a moment ago, but his mind remained clear. He was angry that Zuko had lied to him, but that was the kind of anger he knew how to deal with, serious of course but unexceptional. People lied to each other all the time. At least Zuko had had a good reason.

Jet took a deep breath, lifted the moth-eaten blanket and slid beneath it. The bed creaked as Zuko joined him, his movements slow and tentative, as if expecting Jet to object at any moment. But Jet was starting to find all this uncertainty tiresome, and once Zuko had settled — on his back, with his hands folded on his chest — Jet scooted over to lay his cheek against Zuko's shoulder and tuck a hand into the crook of his elbow.

Zuko let out a long, slow sigh, the tension leaving his muscles as if exhaled along with his breath. He kissed Jet's forehead and Jet pushed a little closer, his stomach just touching Zuko's hips. The edge of unease was still there but it had quieted, a low hum instead of the scream that had threatened to split his head in two.

With Zuko so close, it felt strange to remember the lake and what had followed. Jet had tried very hard not to think about it at all in the weeks since. He hadn't let things get that bad in years, and didn't much appreciate the reminder of how tenuous his self-control could be. But he thought about it now, his grip tightening on Zuko's arm.

Jet knew that he was broken. How could he not be, after everything he'd seen and all the things he'd done? And in those first hours after the lake, crouched on the ground with Smellerbee's arms around him, he'd felt the whole depth and breadth of it — every crack in his soul, every jagged hole the years had torn in his heart, the weight of all the rage and grief he'd never be able to shake.

He'd lost control, and he _hated_ that. He hated that he'd been so completely overwhelmed.

He'd felt the first, creeping hints of that anger's return this afternoon, lusting for Piandao's blood in the courtyard. He'd wanted to hurt that man. _But you didn't_, he told himself, and it was true. He'd calmed down enough to listen. He'd sat and watched Zuko's Firebending lessons. He'd helped Piandao train the men, worked with him like any other ally. Like it was nothing.

Then Zuko had brought him dinner. Such a small thing, really, but wasn't that how lives were built? A long chain of small things all strung together, each flowing into the next: Katara screaming at him on the bank of a river; a meeting in the treetops, tense with the knowledge that he'd gone too far too often; the climb out of the valley at dawn, the last of his followers beside him; an overheard conversation on the road, about a city whose walls the war had never breached; a stranger on the deck of a ferry. Small things had carried him halfway across the world — to this place, this night, this boy holding out a bowl of soup.

Jet covered Zuko's folded hands with his own; craned his neck to kiss Zuko's scarred cheek, stiff and glassy smooth against his lips. "Zuko," he said.

"Mmm?"

Jet let his head drop to Zuko's shoulder again. "I'm sorry," he said. "About…shit. About everything."

Zuko frowned, shifting so he could watch Jet through the slit of his left eye. "I'm the one who messed everything up. A lot of people got hurt because of me." He slid one hand out from under Jet's and resettled it on top, gently weaving their fingers together. "I'm the one who should be sorry," he murmured. "And I am. I'm so sorry, Jet."

Jet swallowed, his chest tight. Zuko was so unlike most of the people he'd known, who recoiled from any blame laid at their feet, refusing the burden of culpability. Smellerbee and Longshot would never do that. Ping and Jin wouldn't, either. But Zuko went too far, past responsibility and into something like penance — the villain of his own story, bent beneath the weight of borrowed guilt. Jet understood how that could be.

He had listened to Zuko describe his strange, sad history. And in the days since Jet had wondered, more than once, why Zuko wasn't angry — why he would want to go back to the father who had punished him so cruelly, over such a trivial slight. Thinking about it now, it all seemed a little clearer.

If allowed to, Zuko would always blame himself. Jet found he didn't want to let him, not this time or this way.

"Gen left today," he said. Zuko opened his mouth to apologize again, but Jet went on before he could. "It's my fault. I should've been able to stop him. I should've talked to him after what happened at the gate. We all knew he was upset, and I just let it go until it got to be too much." He squeezed Zuko's hand. "I guess I let a lot of things go."

"You did what you could."

"Maybe," said Jet. "That's not good enough, though. I'm supposed to be the leader. I'm responsible for all these kids. If I can't keep my shit together-"

"You will," said Zuko, quiet and certain.

"But if I can't," said Jet. He paused as a wave of panic gathered, closed his eyes and breathed until the worst had washed over him. "I just worry sometimes, you know?" he went on, softer now. "That this'll all fall apart."

"It won't."

Jet grinned a little. "What makes you so damn sure?"

"I have to be," said Zuko, in that matter-of-fact way he had of explaining himself. "I spent two years searching for the Avatar. No one had seen him for a hundred years, so there wasn't a trail to follow. But I looked. And I told myself I'd find him. Every morning I got up and I thought, 'maybe today.' And then I'd go to bed and think, 'maybe tomorrow.' I had to be sure or I'd…" He sighed. "I'd just go crazy, you know? I'd never have been able to keep going for so long." He shrugged a little, and his shoulder rose and fell beneath Jet's cheek. "So I'm sure about this, too. We'll save the city. We'll figure it out."

"This isn't very comforting."

"Sorry."

"No, it's…" Jet trailed off. If felt strange to find himself on the other side of this, his old confidence reflected back at him. "You're right," he said. "We'll figure it out."

He disengaged his hand and slid his arm around Zuko's waist, Zuko's own arm moving to circle his shoulders. He felt Zuko's fingers in his hair, twirling small tufts of it together. "It's weird, though," said Jet. "Thinking about it. That we might actually pull this off. Makes you wonder what we'll do with ourselves afterwards." He laughed a little. "It's funny. I hate this place, but now I kind of don't wanna leave. I guess I'm used to it."

Zuko's hand wasn't moving anymore. For a long time he didn't reply, though Jet could tell he was thinking, eyes on the sloped ceiling and mouth pressed into a thin, serious line.

"They want me to go back to the Fire Nation," he said. "After the eclipse. They…" He licked his lips. Jet could see the pulse in his neck, fluttering with anxiety. "They want me to go back. And fight my sister. Or…maybe my father. I don't know. I don't know what'll happen, but…but that's what they want me to do."

Another wave rose and crested, stronger than the last had been and harder to ignore. Jet pulled Zuko closer, held on tight until the worst had passed. "Is that what Iroh was talking about? That thing with Jeong Jeong?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to go?" Jet asked, as calmly as he could.

Zuko buried his face in Jet's hair. "I want to be with you," he whispered. "I don't want to be away from you again."

Jet knew that was only half an answer. But he knew, as well, that Zuko meant the things that he said, however foolish they might sound. He wasn't a man who made promises lightly, and Jet had heard the promise in those words.

"The Fire Lord's not your problem to deal with," said Jet. "That's not who you are anymore."

They lay together in the quiet night, wrapped up in each other. Jet could hear soft snores from the next room; the distant yowl of feral cats; the rasp of Zuko's breath against his hair. One breath was drawn a little deeper; exhaled a little slower as the lamp dimmed and went out.

"Nice trick," Jet murmured.

Zuko squeezed his shoulders, fingers brushing the burn on his neck. If he replied, Jet didn't hear it. He'd already fallen asleep.

oOoOo


	8. All That I Have

oOoOo

Zuko opened his eyes, the black of his eyelids and the black of the room indistinguishable from each other. That was fine, though. He'd opened them to prove to himself he was awake; that he was lying in his own bed in his own room, not a futon on the floor of the old apartment; that the warm, sleep-soft body beside him was real.

They were both curled on their sides, Jet's back flush against his chest and their knees tucked together. Zuko's arm was curled around Jet's stomach, his lips brushing the scabbed-over skin on Jet's neck and his nose in the short, tickling hair just above it. He stayed very still as he listened to Jet's slow, even breaths; felt the rise and fall of Jet's ribcage. He still wasn't entirely used to this small, quiet space; the stillness and ringing silence of solid ground. It hadn't been so long ago that he'd slept with engines rumbling beneath him, the dips and swells of waves too familiar to be noticed.

Jet mumbled and turned over, tucking himself up under Zuko's chin with his arms folded between them. Zuko's chest ached a little as he pressed his lips to Jet's forehead, his hand gently stroking Jet's back. Jet made a small, pleased sound, and Zuko felt him kiss his throat. "Li," he murmured. He tensed a moment later, and the sleepiness was gone when he said, "Shit, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," said Zuko quietly.

"No, it's not," said Jet. He shifted and brought their mouths together, the kiss firm and deliberate and longer than it had to be. "Zuko," he said once they'd parted, their breath mingling. "That's your name."

"Yeah."

"Zuko," Jet said again. He touched the side of Zuko's face, fingers skimming the line of his cheekbone. "I want to see you."

Zuko rolled onto his back, held out a hand toward where he knew the lamp hung and concentrated. Aim was the tricky part, but even upside-down in the dark he could manage well enough. His chi flowed down his arm and through his fingers, and a bright point of flame came to life, bathing the room in its flickering glow. Then he turned back to Jet, who was watching him with a small, serious frown.

"It's strange," said Jet. "Watching you do that."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay." Jet sighed and pushed the hair back from Zuko's face, as if to examine him more closely. The lamplight turned Jet's eyes a deep, honey brown. "I have to get used to it, right?"

His tone was unsentimental, but Zuko knew him well enough to hear what lay beneath; to know what it meant that Jet _wanted_ to get used to it, that he had any patience at all for the truth of Zuko's blood. "Jet," he whispered. His hands slid down Jet's back, pulled him close until he could feel Jet's morning arousal against his thigh. Jet laughed a little, and Zuko felt rough fingertips along his spine as they kissed again, deeper this time and scratchy with stubble. Zuko knew they had things to talk about, plans to make for this last day before the battle, but they'd have to wait. He'd missed this so much. He'd missed _Jet_ so much — how he smelled and tasted, the feel of his body and the way he moved.

"Jin will be up here soon," Zuko murmured, both hands full of warm, smooth flesh.

Jet reached down between them, his gaze locked with Zuko's as his fingers closed around him. "Not too soon," he said.

oOo

Jet had spent most of his life fighting Firebenders. He knew how to handle them, and so did Smellerbee and Longshot. But even the best of his new Freedom Fighters were at a disadvantage. They'd grown up worrying about rival gangs, sticks and knives the worst of what they'd faced. A few knew how to deal with Earthbenders, and some of those had crossed paths with the Dai Li before the walls came down. But Firebenders were new to Ba Sing Se, and the bodies of Jet's men bore the evidence of their inexperience.

For a long time, there hadn't been much that Jet could do about it. He'd tried to explain — had shown them how to move, had reminded them that a singed arm was better than catching it in the face, had told them to soak themselves before a battle so their clothes wouldn't go up too easily. But talk could only do so much good. Talk couldn't teach you how to read air currents, the way it shimmered just before the flames appeared; talk couldn't keep your body from freezing up when a fireball came at you. That kind of thing you had to learn by doing, and the battlefield was a merciless teacher.

The solution had presented itself that morning, while Jet lay in bed with Zuko in his arms, watching the lamp cast shadows on the wall. Ping had been running mock-Dai Li battles for months, teaching benders and non-benders alike how to tangle with his old comrades. Now Jet had three Firebenders under his command, two of them masters. No point in wasting resources.

They talked about it over breakfast, Jeong Jeong eating little but listening with surprising intensity to Jet's description of the soldiers he'd fought. It seemed Jeong Jeong had spent much of his military career training young officers, and so he had volunteered to lead the morning's drills with only a little needling from his friends.

As the line of hungry soldiers filed past on their way to the stove, seats were reshuffled somewhat so that Jet, Ping, Piandao, Jeong Jeong and Pakku could form a huddle at one end of the table. A basic plan for the day's training came together quickly — the Freedom Fighters would be split in two, one half with Ping and the other with Jeong Jeong. After lunch, they'd switch. By dinner, they'd have a better sense of where things stood and what their chances were, and they could spend that meal refining their strategies for tomorrow.

The strangeness of the three old men was a little easier for Jet to handle like this, on familiar territory and with himself explicitly in charge. And it helped that Zuko was beside him, trying valiantly to pay attention despite his uncle's leading questions about why they'd taken so long to come downstairs and what those noises had been. Zuko bore this humiliation as he usually did, eyes down as he mumbled vague replies into his porridge. It was cute, and Jet felt a little surge of warmth in his stomach every time Zuko glanced over at him, red-cheeked with mortification.

Iroh must have been listening more closely than he appeared to be. Every so often he'd lean toward the knot of conversation, his tone serious as he made some suggestion as to the structure of lessons or how to keep the younger soldiers from panicking too badly. Jet wondered, not for the first time, how the old man did it — how he could switch so easily between the grim realities of battle and teasing his nephew about what he did in bed. Jet would've expected the Dragon of the West to be more like Jeong Jeong, curt and serious. Or maybe the wry dignity of Piandao. As it was, between moments of focused intensity, Iroh seemed intent on as much foolishness as possible. Jet liked that about him.

Later, when the meal and their meeting had finished and Jin had stepped in to orchestrate cleanup, Jet moved to where Iroh was carefully stacking empty teacups. "I'll get him up on time tomorrow," said Jet, his tone light. Zuko was over by the sink, up to his elbows in soapy water, and didn't seem to hear. "Jin was supposed to knock-"

"You sounded busy," Jin said dryly, lifting a stack of bowls from Jet's arms.

"Mornings are worth savoring," said Iroh. "As are other things, perhaps." The meaning of his grin was unmistakable, and Jet laughed aloud.

"They savour them plenty," said Jin as she walked back toward the sink.

Iroh smiled fondly at Zuko's back. "It is good to see him so happy," he said, pitched for only Jet to hear. "And you."

"Yeah, well…we figured it out," said Jet, a little awkward. He watched Zuko hand dripping bowls to Jin, who dried them with a rag before stacking them neatly on the counter. He doubted Zuko would've been doing work like this in the palace. Or any work at all, not with his hands anyway. Which, thinking about it now, probably explained why Zuko had been so terrible at it to begin with. "Guess this isn't the match you were hoping for. You know…" Jet nodded his head toward the other boy and grinned lopsidedly.

Iroh chuckled. "I have learned to respect the wisdom of the heart," he said. "Particularly my nephew's."

"Not sure if your brother would approve," said Jet, edging closer to dangerous territory.

"He would not," Iroh agreed. "But that is a point in your favor, I think."

"With you or with Zuko?"

"I can only speak for myself," said Iroh, smiling more broadly. "But I would say that Ozai has had his way for long enough."

Jet shifted uncomfortably. "Guess so."

"Besides," Iroh went on, "The Fire Nation could use more connections to the outside word. They are as isolated as this city, in their own way."

"Sure," said Jet. He tried to sound cheerful, but he didn't really feel it anymore. He shouldn't have tried to joke about this. The whole thing was still too new, too prickly, and lead nowhere he wanted to go. He didn't give a shit about what the Fire Nation needed, or what Ozai would think about his son fucking an Earth Kingdom peasant. That didn't have anything to do with Jet. Or with Zuko, at least not anymore.

Iroh ducked outside with the first wave of trainees, but Jet loitered with Zuko in the kitchen for a while, waiting for Longshot and Smellerbee to finish getting ready. Neither of them said much, and for once Jet felt no need to fill the silence. He went over to where Zuko was finishing with the dishes, the sleeves of his ill-fitting olive tunic rolled up to keep them dry. Jet rested his hands on Zuko's hips and his chin on Zuko's shoulder, and the two of them stood like that for quite some time. Jet enjoyed the feeling of Zuko's muscles moving as he washed the last of the dishes, and Zuko sighed quietly when Jet kissed the back of his neck.

Then Longshot and Smellerbee came in from the main room, and the four of them walked to the courtyard together. The Freedom Fighters were milling around it nervously, whispering to each other between suspicious glances at Jeong Jeong and Iroh. A stern look from Jet was enough to end that, however, and within a minute they'd arranged themselves in nervous, seated rows on the cobbles. Jet was too anxious to sit, so he leaned against the wall to Jeong Jeong's right, Smellerbee and Longshot on one side and Zuko on the other.

"The infantry and most of the officers will fight in the Imperial style," Jeong Jeong was saying. "It is a style fueled by anger and emphasizes strength over control. The attacks are quick, powerful and deadly. But they lack precision, and those who use them tire quickly. They are also predictable, and one can learn to read them."

He looked out over the assembly, frowning as his eyes moved from one face to the next. "I know what it is to be afraid of fire," he said quietly. "I fear it, too. I feel its burden every day" He glanced at Iroh, who stood to one side with his arms folded over his belly. "Recently, I have been reminded that fire can bring life as well as death, just as the sun gives us warmth and light. The Fire Nation has forgotten that truth. I share it with you now because you must understand — it is not the fire itself that you should fear. It is the hand that wields it. The soldier who misuses it. You are men, just as he is. Fire is only a weapon to him. And like any weapon, it can be defended against."

Jet listened with half an ear as Jeong Jeong went on to explain the basics of that defense. He could feel his muscles tensing in anticipation, his fingers tapping nervously against the leather grips of his blades.

"You don't have to do this," said Smellerbee quietly. "I can do it. Or Longshot. Or even Wang, she's learned a lot."

Jet shook his head, stiff but resolute. "Can't ask them to do something I won't do myself."

Smellerbee sighed and looked past him, to where Zuko stood quietly on his other side. "What about you?" she asked. "At least Jet _knows_ you."

"I learned the Imperial style, too," he said softly. "I don't have enough control. I might hurt him."

Jet felt Zuko lean a little closer, and he reached over to squeeze Zuko's hand, trying to keep from sounding as anxious as he felt. "J.J. knows what he's doing," said Jet to Smellerbee. "It'll be fine."

Zuko frowned. "Don't let him hear you call him that."

"Whatever, it suits him."

Longshot's eyebrows drew together, his lips very slightly pursed.

"I'll be _fine_," Jet said again, "Even if I fuck up, he's not gonna hurt me." He knew that wasn't what his friend meant, but Longshot sighed and nodded all the same. There was nothing either of them could do to make this better, and worrying would probably make it worse. Jet would just have to keep his head. Keep it together.

"It's time," said Zuko. He was right — Jeong Jeong was watching Jet expectantly, arms crossed over his chest. Zuko's grip on his hand tightened. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," said Jet, because he had to be.

He could hear his men whispering as he strode out into the middle of the courtyard, stopping a few paces away from where Jeong Jeong stood. He unhooked the swords from his belt and held them ready, low and out to either side, his knees very slightly bent. Jeong Jeong was explaining something to the others, but while Jet could hear him the words slipped past like water, uncomprehended. Jet saw the other man's body shift into a stance he knew very well, every line of it burned into his memory. The quality of the air had changed, crackling and dry and too warm for this early in the day. An unnatural breeze stirred Jet's hair.

_Just practice_, he told himself. But the thought was hard to hold onto, too quiet and too reasonable to compete with the certainty of instinct. Jeong Jeong's arms began to move, his weight rolling back. Jet dropped low as he ran forward, fire boiling through the air above his head, just where he knew it would be and already half-forgotten. The other man's fist was moving forward, a wave of heat washing over Jet's face, and he dodged smoothly to one side before the flames could follow.

Jet could smell the tips of his hair singeing as one sword flashed toward the Firebender's wrist, inches away from hooking it but not quite. The man was old but he was fast and he pulled the arm back just in time, used that momentum to whirl around into a high, solid kick that punched a ball of flame toward Jet's chest. Jet let himself fall back, landing hard on his shoulders and rolling through the fall, all the way over until his feet were under him again, blades scraping against the cobblestones as he sprung forward a second time, snarling his frustration.

The Firebender's robes made his legs hard to track, but Jet caught a flash of one booted foot as the man crouched into a ready stance. A gust of hot wind told Jet to weave sideways, and once the flames had passed he launched himself forward and down, one hook catching the old man's ankle and pulling it out from under him. Good. All Jet had to do was keep him off-balance, get in too close for him to bend, push the crescent blade of one hilt up under his jaw and finish this.

The Firebender's mouth was open as he stumbled back. He was talking, his tone calm if a little breathless, but Jet wasn't listening. His body moved on its own to close the distance, blades whirling in wide, sweeping arcs to keep the other man busy, distract him until it was too late and Jet was on top of him. Jet's heart was pounding and his veins sang with adrenaline and the air smelled like ozone and burnt hair.

_Jeong Jeong,_ he thought. _His name is Jeong Jeong. You can't kill him._

He stopped the blade before it touched Jeong Jeong's skin. His arm trembled, the muscles clenched so tight that they started to cramp.

Jeong Jeong's golden eyes were narrowed. He held his body perfectly still. "Good," he said.

Jet tried to hook his swords back onto his belt, but they wouldn't catch. He looked down and saw his hands were still shaking, worse than before. He could hear other voices, a hum of excited whispering that may as well have been noise. Jeong Jeong bowed to him, and Jet knew he should bow back, so he did. But the movement was inelegant and made his head swim.

As he straightened he looked back over his shoulder. Zuko was watching him, bottom lip between his teeth and arms crossed, his fingers digging into his biceps.

"I should go," said Jet, slow and careful. "Check in on Ping." He made himself smile as he called out to his men. "Listen to this guy, all right?"

Smellerbee was already walking toward him, her knife in one gloved hand. "I'll take the next round," she said. Jeong Jeong replied, but Jet didn't hear what he said. That smile had cost what was left of his composure, and now it took all his concentration to walk without running, to keep his body loose and casual, to make it seem like he was holding his swords because he felt like it, not because he couldn't unclench his fists.

He felt Zuko's hand touch his elbow. The two of them walked together until they'd turned the second corner, out of sight and any danger of being overheard. Then Zuko's arms were around him, lips against Jet's forehead and fingers wound into his hair. Jet leaned into the embrace, his grip on his swords no longer white-knuckle tight. He didn't speak until his heart had stopped pounding.

"I wasn't angry," he said. "I just…" He took a deep breath. Zuko smelled like jasmine and old silk, comfortingly familiar. "I just forgot."

"It was your first try," said Zuko. "It'll get better."

"I don't know." Jet swallowed, his eyes closed. "I've been fighting since I was a kid. All the time. And now it's like…I can't stop. I can't turn it off."

"You fought with me," said Zuko softly. "In the warehouse. We fought together then."

Jet remembered watching him juggle the fire between his swords — how effortless it had looked. "You're not gonna be able to pull that shit tomorrow," said Jet. "If we can't get to Zha in time…or if we're wrong about the eclipse…

Zuko pulled away, frowning as he met Jet's eyes again. "We aren't, Jet, you know-"

"But if we are," said Jet, insistent. "You'll need to Firebend for real."

Zuko was quiet as he reached out to take the swords from Jet's hands, gently uncurling Jet's aching fingers from each hilt. Jet watched as the other boy hooked them back onto his belt, one and then the other, clumsy from lack of practice but managing it in the end. Only then did Zuko reply, soft but certain. "You know me," he said. "You won't forget."

Jet imagined how it might be: flame roaring from the fists of ally and enemy alike, a deadly current swirling around him. He knew how easy it would be to lose himself in that; how loudly the old instincts would scream, how much his arms would ache to slice through bone and skin, to cut off any limb the flame poured out of, years of struggle bearing down on a few days of delicate compromise.

Jet stepped into Zuko's arms again, glad that the other boy wasn't in his armor, the shape and solidity of his body easy to feel through the soft tunic. He didn't want to forget, not even for a moment. Not again.

Zuko hugged him closer, tight enough to hurt. "We learned to fight with Ping. You'll learn to fight with me. It's just the same."

It wasn't the same, but Jet didn't argue with him. He wanted it to be true just as badly as Zuko did.

oOo

Zuko knew more about Ping than most of the other Freedom Fighters did, second only to the tight little knot of Earthbenders that Ping lead. But that amounted to very little. He knew Ping had been chosen by Long Feng as a young boy, as all the Dai Li were; that Ping was older than himself and Jet but younger than his father; that Ping had helped to bring the walls down, and that this last act had been what finally broke him; that when he'd turned up at the Jasmine Dragon three days after the the city fell, he had been running from his old comrades for all the time between. That was all.

Ping spoke little about himself, but he had never refused any question about the Dai Li or their tactics. His role was not unlike Zuko's, really — both kept the Freedom Fighters alive through treachery, revealing the ways of their old comrades and turning their backs on the lives they'd once known. But Zuko had never found much comfort in this. At least Ping was fighting for his own home, the city where he'd been born. Zuko had gone much farther down the traitor's path. Perhaps too far to ever come back again, though at least he wouldn't be alone. At least this place — the Jasmine Dragon and the people who lived there with him — was starting to feel a little like his home, too.

He could hear the second group from several turns away — the crack of swords against stone, the rain of shattered fragments on the ground and the shouts of combat. It sounded too chaotic to be drills and too loud to be mere sparring, so Zuko wasn't at all surprised to find a mock battle underway in the long, narrow alley they used for such things. The nature of it, however, was not what he would have expected.

"That's new," Jet murmured beside him, equal parts wary and amused.

Ping had been training them all to fight the Dai Li since the very beginning, and he had done as thorough a job as he could manage. But he was the only former agent among them, and even the strongest of his men had never quite managed to replicate the style in which the Dai Li fought. And as the Dai Li nearly always moved in seamless groups of two or more men, Ping's exercises in the alleyways had never matched the feel of facing them in real combat.

Today, a team of four non-benders — Piandao, Xiao Si Wang, Dusty and Yan Jing — stood against Ping's assault. But the man with whom he fought in tandem wasn't his lieutenant, nor even an Earthbender, but Pakku.

Someone had overturned the rain barrels that normally stood against one wall, soaking the ground such that the audience of idle soldiers had to stay on their feet. No more than half an inch stood in any one place, but it was enough for Pakku's needs. He rode waves of ice as Ping did the paving stones, his hands covered by milky white versions of the familiar segmented gloves. They circled their opponents in near-perfect sync, sheer walls brought up from the ground to cut them off from one another. Piandao and Wang avoided them deftly, Dusty and Yan dragging only a little behind, but Zuko could already see this would not be an easy victory.

Jet and Zuko came up behind the other onlookers, who stood in a tight cluster at one end of the alley. Xue Sheng was among them, which was almost as odd as a Dai Li Waterbender — he didn't normally show any interest in their training, except to make certain it stayed within the bounds of his schedule.

"Did they just start?" Zuko asked him quietly.

"This round," said Xue Sheng, though his eyes were still on Piandao as he crouched, sword drawn. "Master Piandao wanted to know what he'd be up against. He's never fought the Dai Li before."

The battle may have been practice, but it was brutal to watch nonetheless. Early on, Pakku and Ping kept their distance, hurling fists of rock and ice as they glided along the walls and ground. These the swordsmen could handle well enough — Piandao batted them aside like they were nothing and Wang's dual swords flashed quick and precise, making Zuko's chest swell a little with pride. Dusty and Yan were thus left free to watch and wait — in a real battle, you never knew when reinforcements would come, or where they might appear.

But Ping didn't let them stay comfortable for long. Zuko caught a brief look as it passed between him and Pakku; moments later, twin columns erupted from the alley walls, one ice and one stone but both equally deadly, equally able to crush a man's ribs between them. Wang leapt up, landed on this new terrain without a tremor of imbalance and ran along it to where Ping was coiled into his stance for the next attack. Piandao followed her lead, closing in on Pakku as Dusty and Yan split up to follow just behind them both.

Zuko saw the stone cuff before Wang did. She caught it just in time, leaping up off the bridge of rock and out of its path. But the second came before she landed, and though she twisted out of its way, the effort threw her balance. A third cuff trapped her foot against the muddy ground, another catching her hand as she reached down to try and yank herself free.

Dusty ran to her, ignoring her shouted warning, and Zuko looked away. He could hear the crash of stone and Dusty's cry of alarm as Ping trapped him beside his comrade, but he didn't need to see the boy's look of humiliation, nor his pointless efforts to break away from the ground. Zuko's eyes were on Piandao, who pressed in toward Pakku with unexpected ruthlessness, a glimpse of the man he must have been before he left the soldier's life behind him.

Fighting Dai Li wasn't like fighting Firebenders — getting in too close only made you easier to catch, and once they had you there was nothing to be done. The trick, as much as one existed, was to stay just close enough to tempt an attack, then rush in and finish him off before he had time to shift into his next offense. If you had a partner to distract him, even better.

Piandao came in closer than Zuko had ever dared, his blade moving too quickly to be seen. Water clung to Pakku's hands as he swept them through the air, the summer humidity condensed and frozen and shot like daggers from his fingertips. And as Piandao knocked them aside Pakku shifted the ground beneath him, swells of ice pushing blocks of stone off the ground in heaves violent enough that even Piandao stumbled.

But he had managed what Zuko now realized he'd been after. Yan dropped down from the eaves above, one arm closing around Pakku's neck as the other brought a long, wicked knife toward his pulse, one that Zuko had watched open the throats of a dozen Firebenders in battle.

But it was still inches from Pakku's skin when a gray blur hurtled into Zuko's field of vision. It slowed to non-lethal velocity in time, but it caught Yan full in the face, knocking him from Pakku's shoulders and into the wall behind them. Ping swept across the alley as Piandao whirled around, sword extended before him and his empty hand behind. But he wasn't so much of a fool that he thought he could escape from this. Zuko could see it on his face as he went through those last, futile motions. A few seconds later, his hands were cuffed behind him, a stone hovering beside his temple.

"Better," said Piandao.

"Perhaps," said Ping as the cuff on Piandao's wrists melted away and the stone dropped to his feet. "But you're all still dead or captured."

"It took longer to kill you this time," said Pakku drily. He reached down to help Yan Jing to his feet, and Zuko saw that there was blood pouring from the boy's nose. Yan lifted the hem of his shirt to staunch the flow, but Pakku frowned and pushed it down again. "I know basic first aid," he said, mildly irritable. Yan scowled a little but let Pakku hold a hand coated in glowing water to his face. When the hand was pulled back again, the bleeding had stopped.

But Yan still looked like a mess, and Ping did not seem at all pleased with his handiwork. Or with any of what had just happened. Zuko had rarely seen him look so severe.

"You can't give them an opening," he said, harsh and clipped. "One is all it takes to finish you."

"But my foot-!" Wang protested.

Ping cut her off, sharper with every word. "Never take your eyes off a Dai Li agent," he said. "You might have been able to hold me off until you pulled yourself free. Once you looked away from me, there was no hope.

"And you," Ping continued, rounding on Dusty. "What did you think that would accomplish?"

"Wang needed me," Dusty muttered, sounding unnerved and very young.

"You were too far away," said Ping. "There wasn't enough time. You ignored me to help her, and now both of you would be under Lake Laogai in chains."

Zuko's stomach gave a sick little twist. Beside him, Jet had drawn taut like a bow. But when Zuko reached to take Jet's hand, Jet squeezed his fingers back and smiled, tight with worry but genuine. Then he drew a breath in through his nose, blew it out long and slow through his mouth and spoke in a tone meant to carry.

"Good work," he said. He pushed forward through the crowd, giving Zuko's hand a little tug before dropping it to tell him he should follow. Jet paused beside the group of waiting Earthbenders, who stood a little to the side of everyone else. "How about you help them figure out how to get out of those cuffs, huh? It's been a big problem."

"Of course," the oldest of them said, sounding surprised to have been addressed directly. Zuko was pretty sure his name was Ni Shui Jian, though it took him a moment to remember.

Jet's pace might have seemed casual to someone else, but Zuko could see the tension in his movements; the stiffness to his stride as he sauntered up to where Ping was standing. "I need you for a minute," he said. Then, to Piandao and Pakku, as if as an afterthought, "You, too. Real quick."

Once they'd turned the corner, Jet's facade dropped away, displeased intensity now plain on his face. "Ping," he said as the rest of them formed a loose circle. "How fucked are we?"

"I was captain of the third division," said Ping. "There are thirty divisions, each with a captain as strong or stronger than I. And each division contains ten agents."

Jet's scowl deepened. "Really fucked, then."

"We're lucky to have survived this long," said Ping. "The Dai Li know every inch of this city. They're trained from childhood to crush rebellions like ours. We should not be here right now."

"But we _are_ here," said Zuko. "There has to be a reason for that, right?"

"Luck," said Ping. "It won't last."

"We have three dozen men waiting for orders in our camp beside the outer wall," said Piandao reasonably. "They'll be of considerable help tomorrow."

"Are they as strong as you?" Ping asked.

"As strong as you," said Pakku.

"Then we will lose," said Ping.

"Who's a coward, now?" Jet rumbled.

"I'll fight with you until they kill me," said Ping. "But I won't lie about our chances. You asked my opinion. I've given it."

"Perhaps if we waited a few more weeks," said Piandao. "One day is hardly enough time to train so many men."

"I don't see that we have much of a choice," said Pakku. "When Zhao killed the Moon spirit last winter, our bending was taken away. We would have lost the capital if the Avatar hadn't been there." He turned to Jet. "The Fire Nation will be just as helpless now. We won't get a better chance than this."

"But they have the Dai Li to fight for them during the eclipse," said Piandao. "Captain Ping is correct. Our chances are slim, at best, unless we can find a hundred Earthbenders before tomorrow afternoon."

"We could wait for the comet to arrive," said Pakku. "Iroh and Jeong Jeong could take on a city by themselves with that kind of power."

"And burn it down while they're at it," Jet muttered. "Plus half the people here would've starved to death by then."

"Then we'll fight tomorrow," said Zuko.

Jet frowned, eyes on his boots and hands resting on the hilts of his swords. Several seconds passed as he thought, and Zuko could hear Ni Shui Jian directing exercises behind them. "Ping," he said finally, quiet and serious. "Why did you leave the Dai Li?"

None of them had ever asked Ping so personal a question. It took him several seconds to answer, but when he did the words were solid with certainty. "I was raised to protect the sanctity of Ba Sing Se."

"So were all the other agents," said Jet. "You can't be the only one who feels that way."

Ping flinched — only barely, but enough that Zuko noticed. "Perhaps not," he said. "I don't see that it matters either way."

"We need to talk to them," said Jet. He leaned in, and Zuko recognized the spark behind his eyes — the same as when he stood on the kitchen stairs, rallying his men. "We have to ask, at least once."

"Ask what?"

"For them to join us."

Silence followed, acutely uncomfortable.

Zuko thought back to his first day in the city, pulled aside by Jet on a crowded train station platform. Jet had been a stranger, then, his interest in Zuko flattering but inexplicable, his "Freedom Fighters" amounting to three refugees with no money and no idea what they would do with themselves. He had asked Zuko to join him, and Zuko had refused. It had seemed too dangerous a place for him to be and too risky a friendship to allow.

But Jet had kept asking — Zuko, then Jin, then the kids Jin dragged back to the teashop whenever she went out on errands. After a while, he hadn't needed to ask anymore. Now people came to ask _him_ — for a bed, a meal and a chance to earn them — and Jet almost never said "no."

Still. "Jet…these aren't street kids," said Zuko slowly. "You can't just ask them to join your Freedom Fighters, it doesn't work that way."

Jet's eyebrows arched. "Why not?"

"It seems unlikely that they would agree to stand beside you, given the circumstances," said Ping.

Jet barked out a laugh. "Unlikely? What, you mean like the Fire Lord's son being my second in command? That kind of unlikely?"

They had never had a conversation like this, so Zuko had no idea what to expect of it. But the smile that tugged at the corners of Ping's mouth still caught him entirely off-guard. "You would have to convince them that we have a chance at winning this," he said. "A _good_ chance. Enough to make defection worthwhile."

Jet bent down to pluck a stalk of grass from between the cobblestones, then clasped it in his teeth as he straightened. "Can you ask them to meet us? Not here…" He thought for a moment, the grass bouncing as he rolled it back and forth. "The university."

"I could," said Ping.

"Who would we bring?" asked Zuko.

"Ping, obviously. Your Uncle. Pakku," he said, with a nod toward the older man.

"Chief Arnook asked me to renew our old ties to the continent," said Pakku. "This seems to be as good of a chance as I'll get."

"They should know the Fire Nation is not united behind its Princess, nor its Lord," said Piandao.

"Then it's settled," said Jet. "We'll head out in ten minutes."

Ping, Piandao and Pakku left quickly, to fetch Iroh and to arrange for the other Earthbenders to continue where Ping had left off. Once they were gone, Jet let out a long, deep sigh, his shoulders sagging. "Shit," he said. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of one hand. "Is this crazy?"

"No," said Zuko. "It's not crazy."

"It's just…after everything, you know…" Jet reached up to touch the back of his neck, scratching a little at the scabs. "After you. Seems stupid to think I know what's going on in people's heads."

"I guess so."

"Zuko…" Jet paused, took another breath and let it out. "I want to tell them who you are."

Zuko swallowed. "All right," he said. "If you think they'll care."

Jet's hand dropped back to his side. "They'll care."

oOo

Zuko had never been to the University before, but Xue Sheng had told him what had happened. About the night Azula came. Her men had circled the campus, faces hidden by skull-like masks, but she had sparked the flames herself — a bolt of blue-white lightening that struck the astronomy tower, another that tore through the plaster walls of the engineering wing. She had watched as confused students ran out into the courtyards, robes hastily thrown over their sleeping clothes. She'd laughed as they scrambled to organize a bucket brigade, emptying their prized koi pond to try and douse the fire. Professors had run deep inside the burning building, desperate to rescue some part of their library — the oldest and largest outside of legend. They had died when the roof came down.

Xue Sheng and a few of his friends had slipped out through the sewers, under the campus walls and into the Chen Si River. Jin had found them squatting in a gutted merchant's house two days later, and Xue Sheng had come back with her that night, hollow-eyed but determined. He couldn't fight the Fire Nation himself, but he could help the people who were.

None of them were certain who else had survived. Jet had gone to investigate the smoldering ruins, and had come back saying it was probably better not to ask.

Zuko didn't know why Jet had chosen this place to meet the Dai Li. Perhaps because there wasn't anything here anymore — no cover the agents could use to sneak up on them, unseen. The only thing left standing was the gate, and even that had been burned black, tiles cracked from heat and gold paint curling away from what remained of the wooden sign. Most of the characters were unreadable, but the first two had survived - Ba Sing, "Perpetual."

Zuko felt an awful, smothering pressure, as if the ruins were a weight on his chest. He had been a lonely child, spending many long, quiet afternoons in the palace library surrounded by dusty scrolls. Words had been a comfort to him when no other distraction was available, when life beyond the shelves was too painful to think about. He couldn't articulate what he felt now, staring at the devastation spread out before him. His eyes stung, and he imagined he could taste the ash in the air.

"My blood did this," Uncle rumbled, low and quiet.

Pakku lay a hand on his shoulder. "Your blood will set it right again," he said.

Zuko shuddered and turned to Jet, but the other boy's face was unreadable, even to him. Jet stood very still for several seconds, jaw clenched and eyes fixed on the sign, then set out across the debris-strewn courtyard. The rest of them fell in behind, fragments of charcoal and tile crunching under their boots. Ahead was a mound of gray rubble, ash and mud and blackened timbers, none of it higher than Zuko's waist. It stretched on for acres, the city beyond hardly visible through the hazy, summer air. Azula was nothing if not thorough.

Ping bent down and selected a fist-sized chunk of stone from the mess at his feet. "They'll be here within ten minutes once I do this," he said.

"That's fine," said Jet. "We're ready."

Ping tossed the rock up a few feet, punched it with his fist high into the air and made a rapid series of motions with his hands, fingers clenching and flexing. The rock exploded in a complicated pattern of bangs that echoed over the city.

Jet squinted at the horizon, already looking for signs of movement. "Will they know it's you?"

"Each division is assigned a signal," said Ping as he lowered his arms. "Mine would have been retired when I left." He turned his head toward Jet, grim and a little sad. "They'll know it was me."

Zuko stared down at the rubble. The fire and the months of weather that followed had left most of it unrecognizable. But as his gaze wandered a sharp glint of sunlight caught his eye — the unburnt corner of gilt scroll-case, a few inches of gleaming perfection.

He couldn't look away. He remembered that night in the old apartment, when Jet had asked him why — why help them? Why stay? Standing here, staring at this casualty of the war his family had started, he didn't know how there could be any other answer. How could a man stand before this and not want to help? How could _he_, when his own sister had ground this city's spirit to dust? He looked at what she had done and seared it into his memory, fingernails cutting the palms of his hands.

Jet had shifted closer to him, a dark shape at the edge of his vision. "Zuko," he murmured. His fingers brushed Zuko's fist, so tight it trembled a little. Zuko blinked as he looked up at him, and felt a cool trail of moisture on his cheek.

"I'm sorry," said Zuko. He wasn't certain what he was apologizing for. He knew there wasn't anything he could have done; no way that he could have kept this from happening. But his heart felt like it was being crushed, painful as it thundered in his chest.

"They're here," said Ping.

Jet leaned in close for just a moment, cupping Zuko's knuckles in his palm. "Don't," he said, soft but urgent. "Don't apologize for this. Not to me. Not to them."

"But-"

"Don't," said Jet. Then he pulled away and squared his shoulders as he turned to the gate behind them.

Three men stood inside it, though Zuko hadn't heard them arrive. Two were uniformed and anonymous, faces hidden beneath their wide, flat helmets. The third, between them, was older even than Ping — head and hands bare, his braided queue streaked with gray. Zuko couldn't see the other agents, but he knew they were there — waiting just beneath the rubble, perhaps, or crouched behind what was left of the campus wall.

Jet stood his ground, straight and solid, the hilts of his swords untouched. "Quan," he said. He'd never been one for titles.

The older man's gaze flickered between Uncle and Pakku, his eyes very slightly narrowed, before returning to Jet. "I had hoped, when Ping called me here, that his reason was a change of heart," said Quan. "I can see, now, that my faith in his judgement was misplaced."

"Looks like," said Jet.

"Are you here to parade your new allies before me? I appreciate the chance to asses them, but it seems a waste of our first meeting."

Jet plucked the grass stalk from his teeth and rolled it between his finger tips. "You know, Quan, normally I'd be happy to stand here and chat," he said. "But we don't have time for that kind of bullshit right now." Quan scowled at that but Jet acted like he hadn't noticed, the head of the stalk a yellow blur as it twirled. "I asked Ping to call you here because I have some things to tell you. And a question. So I'll say what I gotta say, and ask what I gotta ask. After that, up to you what you do about it."

"I'm listening," said Quan, his words clipped.

"We're gonna move against the Fire Nation. Soon. We have the men and we have a plan. We'll win." He said it with easy confidence, like he was doing Quan a favor by telling him. "The only question is, what happens to you?"

He paused, daring Quan to interrupt with some protest, to sputter angrily about ridiculous claims and foolish arrogance. But Quan only frowned, the lines of his face deepened by skepticism but his mouth shut tight.

Jet tucked the grass back between his lips, his movements unhurried. "The way I see it, you've got two options. You can stay with General Zha, help the Fire Nation try and fight us off. And lose. Or you can join us, and start climbing out of the hole you've dug for yourselves."

"You want us to turn on the Fire Nation and fight alongside you," said Quan, in the tone one might use with a child who had reached too far past their own understanding.

If Jet cared, it didn't show. "Seems like your best option to me," he said.

"Your conviction is admirable," said Quan, gently condescending. "But the Dai Li have no interest in sacrificing themselves for lost causes. And you lost this city months ago."

The ruins were hot and quiet and still. Even the thin breeze off the river had died, as if chased away by Quan's words. Zuko could hear Jet swallow. He could see the steady tremor of Jet's heartbeat, pushing back against the strap that crossed his chest.

"No," said Jet, the first cracks in his smooth countenance beginning to appear. "We didn't lose anything. You gave it away."

"Princess Azula would have taken it by force," said Quan. "Half the city would have been destroyed. By cooperating, we brought it through the transition unscathed."

Zuko could see the moment that Jet's calm snapped; the way his fingers twitched, tempted by the hilts of his swords. He knew what Jet wanted to do to Quan, because he wanted to do it, too. "Unscathed," Quan had said, and Zuko had felt himself dragged back to the roof of the Jasmine Dragon, watching as a cloud of yellow dust rose from where the wall had been.

Jet made a wild, sweeping gesture that took in as much as one wanted it to: the ruins, the city, all the broken pieces of what had been a kingdom. "You call this unscathed?" he snarled. "Look at this! She did this, and you _helped_ her!"

Quan looked at Ping for the first time, then. "The Dai Li had no part in what happened here."

"We brought the walls down," said Ping. "We betrayed Long Feng. Our city needed us, and we were too cowardly to stand and fight."

"You could have stopped her then," said Jet. "Hundreds of you against one Princess? I don't care how powerful she is, you could've stopped her."

A haunted look passed over Quan's features. "You don't know what she's like," he said. "That woman is a monster. There was nothing we could do."

"We know just fine," said Jet, and Zuko braced himself for what would follow. "You see, my second-in-command is her brother. Prince Zuko."

The Dai Li were too well trained to allow their surprise to show. But Zuko could see their eyes all shift to look at him, examining his scar and his gold irises and pale skin. Then back to Jet again, as if gauging whether this, too, was only posturing. Zuko could tell they were doubtful, comparing him to Azula in their minds and wondering at the disparity. He tried to keep his own expression flat and unconcerned, his breathing slow, aware that they could feel his pulse through the ground.

"You see these men?" Jet asked, jerking his thumb toward Uncle and Pakku. "One's a master Waterbender, Pakku. Chief Arnook sent him. The other's General Iroh, Ozai's brother. The Dragon of the West." He flashed a grin, smug and crooked. "Maybe you've heard of him."

Quan's eyes widened a fraction.

"How about Admiral Jeong Jeong? Or Piandao? You guys keep track of shit like that, right? The greatest soldiers of their generation. Strong enough to take this city by themselves." Zuko couldn't tell how much of it Jet believed anymore, so complete was his mask of confidence. "That's who I've got standing behind me. Right here, in Ba Sing Se. Not across the ocean. Not sitting in some palace trying to forget we exist." His eyes bored into the older man's. "Who's standing behind you, Quan?"

"An army," said Quan.

"An army that doesn't give a shit about you _or_ your city," said Jet. "An army that's using you to fight your own people." He took a step forward, crushing burnt fragments of wood. "Even if they do win, where does that leave you? What d'you think they'll do when they don't need you anymore?"

Quan looked away. "The Fire Nation will win this war. There is nothing any of us can do to prevent that."

"Ozai is not the Fire Nation," said Uncle, rough with an anger that made Zuko's mouth go dry. "He does not speak for us all. We have lost our sons and daughters to my grandfather's war. We have suffered, and we dream of peace. My brother's time is ending."

"You can't expect me to gamble our lives on four old men and a banished prince," said Quan, cautious now.

"They won't be alone," said Jet. "They'll have my Freedom Fighters. And they'll have the Avatar."

"He's dead," said Quan, automatic.

"He's not," said Jet, in a tone no man could doubt. "And he's getting stronger. He's gonna win this war, and we're gonna help him do it." The air seemed to crackle around him, charged with the strength of his conviction. "Do you really want to be on the losing side of this? Is this mess," he pointed to the ground at his feet, "how you want to be remembered?"

The two of them stared at each other for what felt like a very long time, Jet vibrating with impatience and Quan frowning more deeply than ever. When Quan spoke again, his voice was much quieter, barely audible despite the stillness. "We're not unsympathetic to your cause," he said, with a note of urgency Zuko didn't understand. "Have you never wondered why that teashop of yours is still standing? Have you noticed that the Dai Li have not killed any of your men? Did it not occur to you children that you're alive because we chose to spare you?"

Jet's brows drew down in irritated confusion. "You're fighting with the Fire Nation," he said, as if no other fact could be important.

"Do you think that we enjoy it?" Quan snapped. "That we take any pleasure in this work?"

Jet took another step forward, hands drifting to his hilts again. "The lake-"

"We had planned to negotiate for your release," said Quan, cutting across him. "Your life in exchange for a withdrawal of your forces from Ba Sing Se."

For a moment, Jet was too stunned to reply, and it cost Zuko a tremendous effort of will to keep from reaching out to him. Then his face clouded over with new anger. "They'd never have taken it!" Jet barked, but Zuko didn't share in this certainty. He wasn't sure that he could refuse anything if it meant Jet's life.

"Do not presume to know our reasons," said Quan. "Do not think that your survival is cause for arrogance."

Jet stared down at the charred earth, grass stalk quivering from the tension in his jaw. "We don't need your pity," he said, grinding out the words. "What we need are men to fight with us in battle."

"I can't promise you that," said Quan.

"Then we have nothing else to say to each other." Jet turned away from the gate, stiff with the effort of holding in the fury that blazed behind his eyes. He started to walk across the ruins, toward the river, and Zuko fell in beside him as if they had planned it this way. As if he didn't know the direction was an arbitrary one, born of Jet's need to leave this place, and quickly.

"Wait," said Quan. Zuko looked back over his shoulder, and saw that another agent had joined the small cluster at the gate. He and Quan were speaking quietly, and Quan held up a hand toward Jet and the others, asking them to stop until he'd finished. Jet waited, but his eyes stayed fixed on the water.

The agent bowed and slipped out of sight. "A Fire Nation patrol has apprehended one of your men," said Quan. "He was trying to pass through a checkpoint in the outer wall."

"Gen," Jet murmured.

"We couldn't control the interrogation," Quan went on, almost apologetic. "We believe he has told them of the location of your base. There's nothing more we can do."

"Ping," said Jet. But a stone sledge had appeared before the word was past his lips. The moment all five of them were crouched in place, Ping's arm cut down through the air in a vicious slash that sent them rocketing forward, the wind whistling past their ears as they sped through the ruins and down to the bank of the river. The sewer that had saved Xue Sheng loomed ahead, a black mouth ready to swallow them. Pakku's arms whirled, and they jumped onto the platform of ice that he formed, faster and quieter than stone in these damp passageways.

None of them spoke as Pakku rushed them toward the heart of the city. Zuko felt Uncle's large, warm hand on his back and all the strength it offered. His own hand was in Jet's, the grip so tight it ground his bones together.

oOo

Jet could hear the battle from underground, muffled shouts and the rumble of Earthbending. He knew this wasn't practice. He knew they were too late. Ping lay his hand against the ceiling, eyes closed and mouth turned down as he concentrated, but Jet couldn't wait. He didn't care how many men were waiting for them, or how bad things were. He had to go, right now, and salvage what he could. He had to fight. Odds and strategy didn't matter.

"At least two dozen," Ping was saying. "Fire Nation, mostly benders. I can't find the runners, they must-"

"_Now_!" Jet shouted, his voice echoing down the tunnel, swords already in hand.

Ping lifted them up, stone parting and then closing again beneath their feet. They were in the courtyard in front of the teashop, beside the fountain. Jet could hear the flames, now, loud and crackling and much too close. The wave of heat felt like a physical blow, hitting him full in the face and making his eyes water.

The Jasmine Dragon was burning.

Jet had been a warrior all his life. Even in this chaos, it took him only a moment to absorb the scene around him, eyes flickering over the sea of armored men, his own allies seen only in flashes between them. Piandao, Wang and dozen other fighters were slicing their way through the Fire Nation soldiers, staying so close to the infantry that the attacks of the Firebenders did their work for them. Jet could only find three Earthbenders, standing close to the building as they pushed the enemy back with wave after wave of paving stones. Jeong Jeong stood behind them, the hot wind whipping his robes around his ankles. His arms were extended toward the flames as if in supplication, fingers splayed and palms down, cords of muscle standing out along his bare arms from the strain of whatever he was doing.

Jet saw all of this in the space of one breath, and knew they had already lost. The runners and most of his men had retreated. This battle was nothing but a way to keep the Fire Nation busy, buying time for the others to slip safely away.

He felt a hand on his arm. "Someone must still be in there," said Zuko, voice raised above the din.

They ran forward as one, Ping and Iroh just behind, columns of rock bursting up out of the ground to clear a path through the crowd. Jet caught a glimpse of Pakku in his peripheral vision — saw him pull a great wave from the fountain, a river that swept through the enemy line before it arced into the air and poured down onto the flames. Clouds of steam boiled up toward the sky, tinged red by the flames that remained.

Up close, Jet could see Jeong Jeong was at the limits of his strength, face shining with sweat and arms trembling. Iroh moved to stand beside him and matched his stance, shouldering enough of whatever burden Jeong Jeong carried to allow him to speak.

"Two children are still inside," he grunted. "I do not know where."

"They must be trapped upstairs," said Zuko. Then he was running again, Jet steps behind, around the corner of the building and into the alleyways, thick with swirling ash. The kitchen door hung open, but Jet could see nothing but red-gray smoke beyond it.

Zuko pulled his tunic up over his mouth and turned to meet Jet's eyes. "You lead. I'll keep the fire back."

Jet had been inside burning buildings before. He knew what to do. But it still took him long, terrible seconds to force himself to pass through that door, when every instinct he had was screaming at him to run, to grab hold of Zuko's hand and pull him as far from this hell as they could go.

There was no light. There was no sound but the crackle of burning wood and the deafening roar of flame gulping down what was left of their air. Jet crawled along the ground with his eyes squeezed shut and his swords in his hands, using them to reach what his arms could not, to find the edge of the sink, the bottom of the stairway. He could feel the change as Zuko pushed the flames away, keeping the air around them just a few degrees cooler, just a fraction less deadly.

The stairs were still there. Jet knew they might collapse under the weight of two men, but knew as well that he could not reach the loft without them, that the poisoned air had already drained too much of his strength for him to leap that far. So he groped for the first step, found it and began to climb. The wood was hot enough to burn the skin of his hands. He climbed, and the air grew hotter, the smoke thicker. He coughed, his lungs burning. He felt Zuko brush against his leg.

The door to their room was shut, rags stuffed into the crack beneath it. Good. Like they'd been taught. Jet used his sword to bang on it, two short and four long, and hoped that was enough warning. He couldn't speak, and they wouldn't have heard him if he tried. He pushed the door open with his shoulder, throwing all his weight against it. He could feel smoke pour into their room, sucked through the doorway with him.

He clenched one sword in his teeth and slid his empty hand across the floor, moving along shelves and wooden boxes. Beneath their bed, he found something soft wrapped up in a canvass tarp. Then a small hand took hold of his fingers.

Their bodies shook with coughing as he pulled them out from under the bed. He swung his sword blindly behind him until he found Zuko's leg, tapped it twice, then gathered the kids up into his arms, pressing their faces against his chest. He felt Zuko pass him, heard several loud cracks that had a different quality than the rest of the noise around him. Then a gust of cool air rushed in, and Jet felt a hand pull him forward, an arm curled around his shoulders as they stumbled toward the new hole in the wall.

Jet rolled as he landed, trying to shield the kids from the worst of the impact. He felt a sharp, blinding pain in his shoulder as bone met ground, but that pain was nothing to the relief of air that didn't choke him. He gulped down desperate, drowning lungfulls of it, his body shaking with the coughs that followed, his nose running and his mouth full of ash and every inch of exposed skin baked dry and tight.

Zuko pulled him to his feet, took one of the kids from him and draped Jet's arm across his shoulders. They stumbled down the alleyway together, all sense of direction gone except the clean air ahead and the inferno behind them. Jet was aware of the return of sunlight, of being able to hear his own footsteps again. He turned his head and saw Zuko's face beside his own, grime plastered to his skin by sweat and snot and tears, yellow eyes shining from a face black with soot.

His knees gave out, and Zuko didn't have the strength to hold him up any longer. When Ping found them, they were crouched beside each other on the cobblestones, the limp bodies of the runners in their arms, their foreheads pressed together.

oOoOo


	9. Strain This Chaos, Turn It Into Light

oOoOo

The creek was shallow, but the water was cool and clear. Jet held his hands beneath the surface, his blistered palms just above the smooth stones at the bottom. He could feel the current swirl between his fingers, gentle and soothing and natural in a way so few things were within the walls. If he kept his eyes down, he could almost imagine he was in the forest again.

Beside him, Zuko sat on a large, flat rock with the remains of his tunic in his lap. He tore off another strip, the old silk giving way with faint protest. The sun hovered just above the tree line, and Zuko's wet skin gleamed in the last rays of daylight. He'd scrubbed the worst of the soot away, but as Jet looked up he could see dark smudges around Zuko's hairline and the backs of his hands. A stand of pine trees had grown along the creek bed, and beyond them loomed the sand-colored bulk of the outer wall.

Smellerbee and Longshot were settled on a fallen log a short distance away. Smellerbee had gathered yellow flowers from the edge of the wood and sat with a bowl held between her knees, grinding the blooms to a paste with a large stone. She had said very little since reaching the campsite a few hours before — and Longshot, of course, had said nothing at all — but that was fine. Jet didn't need them to say anything. He just needed them to be there.

He heard pebbles skittering, kicked aside by careless footsteps, and turned to watch Jin emerge from the woods. "I found one," she said as she jogged over to where Zuko sat. She carried a small pot made of dented copper, and Zuko smiled slightly as he took it from her.

"Thanks," he said. He dipped it into the creek, filling it halfway with clear water.

"I talked with Xue Sheng," said Jin. "He says they'll be fine. They're just a little shaken up."

"What happened?" Zuko asked. "Why were they in there?"

Jin sighed and laughed a little. "Su Dao went back for his squirrelmouse," she said. "Then Roo went in after _him_."

"Shit," said Jet. "These kids…they should know better."

"We thought they'd left with the other runners," said Smellerbee. "We didn't notice they'd gone back inside until too late."

"They're lucky that Jeong Jeong was there," said Zuko. "If he hadn't held the fire back as long as he did…"

"They're lucky _you_ were there," said Jin. She reached over to ruffle Jet's hair. "Both of you." Jet returned her smile and she gave his head one more affectionate pat, then found another rock to sit on while Zuko dropped strips of fabric into the pot, along with a stick he'd stripped of bark and branches. All of them watched as Zuko placed his hands flat on the metal. Within seconds, steam had begun to rise from the water, curling around Zuko's face as he concentrated.

"What about the Jasmine Dragon?" Jin asked, quieter now.

Zuko didn't look up from his work, but the crease in his brow deepened. "Gone," he said. "Once Uncle and Jeong Jeong left, it just…" He shook his head, his bottom lip between his teeth. The water was at a full boil, now, and white clouds of vapor hid the nuances of his expression. "It was a wooden building."

"I'm sorry," said Jin.

Zuko took his hands away from the sides of the pot. "It's fine," he said as he gingerly plucked the stick from the scalding water. "Everyone made it out. That's what's important."

"Still," said Jin. She looked between their faces, Zuko and Longshot and Smellerbee and Jet. "I hadn't had a home like that in a long time. Not since I came to work in the city, and that was years ago." She smiled a little. "Remember when it was just the five of us? That first night, after Iroh left. When we were trying to figure out what to do."

"You were," said Zuko. "I was a mess."

"You weren't so bad," said Smellerbee. "You kept Jet busy."

Jin chuckled softly. "Busy. Right."

"Heh. Yeah, that, too," said Smellerbee.

"I'm sitting right here," Zuko muttered as he poked the contents of the pot with his stick. Jet felt a little swell of affection in his chest, but the weight of what had happened was still too much — too overpowering for anything else to push through.

He lifted his hands from the creek. The pain had dulled to a low throb, but when he flexed his fingers he could feel his skin cracking, stiff and swollen. "Any word on Gen?" he asked quietly.

Jin looked down at her lap, the smile gone. "Ping sent someone to look for him a few hours ago," she said. She didn't sound hopeful, and Jet had no reassurances to offer her; no words to soften what they all knew to be true.

Gen had betrayed them, but Jet couldn't find it in himself to be angry. He knew what the Fire Nation did to their prisoners. He knew what Gen would have suffered. A stronger man might have held out, but Jet had given Gen no reason to endure it for his sake. Jet had failed him, as a leader and as a comrade in arms. He had no right to judge Gen for what he'd done.

Zuko used the stick to lift the strips of fabric from the pot. He held them a few inches above the surface, dripping water, and waved Smellerbee over. "This might sting," he said as she knelt between him and Jet.

Jet braced himself and held out his hands, the palms turned up. Smellerbee dipped her hands into the hot water, rubbing them together until her skin was red from the heat, then used her fingers to spread the yellow-brown paste in her bowl on Jet's blistered skin. It had a sweet, vegetable smell, like decomposing leaves.

The wet bandages felt like coals, and the corners of Jet's eyes prickled with tears. He fought to keep his arms steady as Zuko worked — he knew the other boy was being as careful as he could. "Don't wrap them so tight I can't use them," he said.

"I'll have to change the bandages in the morning," said Zuko. "I can make them looser then."

"Make them looser now," said Jet, firm though not unkind.

"We've all had a really long day," said Jin, frowning as she caught the implication. "We need to rest."

"We've rested plenty," said Jet. "We need to train. Jeong Jeong's still at the camp, right?"

"Jet…we just lost our home. We almost lost Roo and Dao. I don't think this is the best time for-"

"Those kids are scared," said Jet. "Scared of Firebenders. Scared of _fire_." Zuko had finished with his right hand, and Jet closed it into a fist, getting used to the pain. "They can't go into battle like that."

"He's right," said Zuko as he started with the next set of bandages. "They'll freeze. Or worse."

"We need to get their confidence up again," said Jet.

"By throwing _fireballs_ at them?" said Jin.

"By reminding them they can fight back." Jet paused, watching as Zuko's long, thin fingers stretched the bandages over his wounds. "And that we can throw fireballs, too," he went on, a part of him surprised by his own words.

"Hopefully we won't have to," said Zuko. He tucked the end of the last bandage in place and sat back on his heels. "There. Done." He looked up into Jet's eyes, his lips pressed together. "Any better?"

"Yeah," said Jet. He stood, and the others followed suit, their little group shifting into a circle beside the creek. Zuko stood to Jet's right, and Jet allowed himself to rest one bandaged hand on the other boy's hip. They were both alive, both mostly whole, and he wanted to savor it. "Look, I know things are shitty right now. We're all tired. We've lost a lot in one day." His hand shifted, his arm curling around Zuko's waist. "But we can't think about that. Not tonight. Those kids look up to us, you know? We have to keep it together."

Jet was more than tired. He was exhausted, his chest burning from the smoke and his muscles aching. All he wanted was to find an empty tent and curl up with Zuko in his arms — sleep until the eclipse was over and everything was decided, for better or worse.

But he couldn't. So he took as deep a breath as he could manage without coughing, then pressed on in a tone he hoped was more confident than he felt. "Jin, we just brought a lot of new bodies into this camp," he said, brisk and businesslike. "See what needs doing, and get the runners to help you. Longshot, Smellerbee, you'll run drills with me. Zuko…" Jet met his gaze, concentrated on keeping his own voice even. "I think your uncle wants you. Firebending practice."

"I should be with you," said Zuko. "I'll need my swords tomorrow, not my bending. I promised Xiao Si Wang-"

"Wang will understand," said Jet. "Just…go with Iroh, all right? He knows what he's doing."

Zuko frowned, reluctant, but nodded all the same. "If that's what you want," he said.

"It is."

It wasn't. He had an awful, panicked feeling of time growing short — a black shape on the horizon, indistinct but no less ominous for it. He didn't want to let Zuko out of his sight. He didn't want to move his hand from the hard, sharp point of Zuko's hipbone, or to break contact with the warm solidity of his body, his narrow waist or the almost-grown breadth of his shoulders. But Jet understood what had to be done; what was needed, outside of his own, selfish desires.

He clenched his jaw and tried for a reassuring smile. Zuko frowned a little, but Jet stood his ground, and after some hesitation Zuko leaned in, kissed Jet's cheek in his usual, awkward manner for when they had an audience, then turned and walked away.

Jet fought the urge to call him back. But he couldn't help wondering how many more chances he'd get.

oOo

Jet had been a leader for almost as long as he could remember. He hadn't meant for things to turn out that way, not really. He had simply done whatever made sense at the time. He'd lost his family, his entire village and all the people he'd ever known, so he'd learned to look out for himself — what to eat, where to sleep, who he could trust and who was best avoided. He'd found children stranded in the wreckage of their homes and shown them all he'd puzzled out on his own, how to catch a possumhare and build a treehouse and make a fire. He'd taken hooked swords from the ruins of a blacksmith's shop and taught himself how to use them. He'd fought off the patrols that stumbled into his little camp, then he'd gone looking for the Fire Nation outposts that pushed too deep into his valley, wiping them out before they could threaten what he'd built. The younger kids looked up to him and the older ones respected him, all his hard-earned knowledge and the battles he'd won. Jet had perfected the art of confidence, of convincing the world of his strength and control, because he'd had no other choice. Now it came to him as naturally as breathing.

For a little while, training with Jeong Jeong and the very real danger of his Firebending were enough to hold Jet's attention. His injuries and aches made him slow, and the old man exploited every weakness with quiet efficiency. But these lessons weren't for Jet's benefit, and once he'd stepped aside his concentration failed him. Jet went through the motions of training with little thought, his body guided by habit and instinct, his mouth offering encouragement and chastising carelessness while his mind wandered elsewhere. Smellerbee and Longshot would notice, of course; Jeong Jeong and Piandao probably suspected. But Jet had nothing else to give that night. He felt unsettled; disconnected. He showed Dusty how to duck under an attack, adjusted Wang's grip on her swords so that she could keep hold of them while she rolled, but his thoughts kept drifting over the next ridge, drawn by the crackle of not-so-distant flame.

The sky darkened, the pines black and spidery against the glow that flared beyond them. Eventually the pull grew too strong for him to ignore. He slipped away as Jeong Jeong and Piandao went through the movements of combat in slow motion, quiet enough that no one but Smellerbee and Longshot paid him any mind. As he climbed the wooded hillside they both fell in behind him, unasked but all the more appreciated for it. Jet didn't want to have to ask, not ever and especially not tonight.

The crest of the hill rose before him, a rocky spine just high enough for him to crouch behind. He could hear voices, now, indistinct but still familiar. He felt at once drawn and repulsed. He was a man, proud and practical, aware of what had to be done. He was a boy, alone and terrified in the branches of a tree, his nostrils full of smoke.

He closed his eyes and dug his fingers down into the ground, cool and soft with moss and leaves. He took long, deep breaths of clean air, smelled earth and pine sap and decay, his friends' bodies beside him, his own filthy clothes and bandaged hands. But there was another scent beneath these, familiar but far from comforting: a whiff of ozone; the faintest hint of burnt leaves, caught up in the current.

"All right," Jet murmured. He straightened to his full height and looked down the far side of the ridge. A large, flat clearing stretched between the hills, lit by a crude torch that had been thrust into the ground. Zuko and Iroh stood to either side of it, facing each other, and as Jet watched they bowed, left hands flat and right hands fisted beneath. Jet felt Smellerbee's fingers on his arm, but he didn't look away.

Their movements were graceful and liquid, sweeping curves instead of the brutal jabs and thrusts Jet remembered. Zuko followed his Uncle's lead, all careful concentration, patterns of orange and black moving over his skin as muscles shifted. His fists drew paths of fire through the air, bright and hungry, whorls of light and clouds of glittering sparks.

Jet could see the beauty of it: Zuko's pale, lean body and the creatures of flame he conjured, flaring to life and fading, only the spots in Jet's vision and a faint shimmer in the air left to tell of their passing. He loved Zuko, and Zuko's bending was an extension of his self, his soul and spirit made manifest. Jet had known enough benders to understand that.

Jet saw the beauty and felt bile rise in his throat. The boy inside him recoiled even as the man ached to move closer, to touch those thin fingers and press them to his face and remind himself that this was Zuko — _his_ Zuko that he knew and loved and trusted not to burn him.

Smellerbee's grip tightened, and Jet turned toward her at last. Longshot stood behind her, one hand at the small of her back. Her eyes were wide beneath her headband, black irises reflecting the fire below, and he could see a flicker of fear in them.

"Why aren't you angry with me?" Jet whispered, hoarse from the tightness in his chest.

Smellerbee frowned, her full lips pursed. "Why would I be?"

"This goes against everything I ever said I'd do. Everything I ever promised."

"Jet…"

"We fought for years to keep the Fire Nation out of that valley. I promised I'd get rid of them. I promised all of you I'd-"

"Jet," she said again, firmly enough that he bit back his next words. She glanced over her shoulder at Longshot, asking some question with her eyes, before looking up at Jet again. Her nostrils flared as she exhaled, and Jet could tell she wasn't sure she should say whatever it was she was thinking, or how to put it if she did. She settled for, "That's not how it used to be."

Jet didn't understand what she meant. Things had always been the same for them before they left the forest, the same fight against the same enemy, played out across the years. His confusion must have shown on his face, because Smellerbee went on, hesitant but determined. "We were just kids, Jet. All we wanted was to have a home again. A family. And you gave us that. We had food to eat and a roof to sleep under and people who cared about us."

"You could've done that on your own," Jet muttered. He could tell she was dancing around something, and it made him feel stubborn.

"See, that's the thing," she said, more urgently now. "Not all of us can be like you, Jet. Not all of us would've made it on our own."

Jet sighed. "Smellerbee-"

"No, I'm serious," she said. "Just…listen to me, all right? Maybe we could've figured some things out. _Maybe._ But you gave us more than that. You gave us something to fight for. We'd lost everything we ever knew or cared about and you…you just…" She shook her head, bangs swinging, as if trying to jostle her thoughts into order. "We weren't just a bunch of hungry kids in the forest, Jet, we were your _Freedom Fighters_. You made us believe that we could do something. That we could make a difference."

The figures below swept into their next set, and Jet felt his face contort, the tension spreading from his chest to his whole body. He remembered their last night in the forest, the meeting around the long, wooden table at the heart of their village in the trees. Jet had said very little that night. He'd known there wasn't anything he _could_ say to fix things, no way to take back what he'd done. He'd gone too far one time too many. "They turned me out and I dragged you along with me," he said. "How did I let that happen?"

"We came because we wanted to," said Longshot, soft and gravelly. "You're our leader. That's just how it is."

"I let you down."

"We let _you_ down," said Smellerbee. "We didn't know how to help you."

"You shouldn't have had to," said Jet. "But I was just…" He closed his eyes, but he could see the glow of fire through the lids. "You were right. I barely knew him. I shouldn't have let him in so far. I just lost myself in it, like some stupid kid. I should've known better."

He felt Smellerbee's hand slide across his back as she leaned into him, her cheek pressed against his arm. "`I dunno. I think maybe I was wrong that time."

Jet let out a short puff of laughter. "Bee, I don't think you've ever been more right about any of the guys I've ever been with."

"Shut up and let me talk," she said, though the humor in her tone was shallow. Jet could feel the shift as her head turned toward Longshot again, and he wondered how long she'd waited to say this to him. "Jet…you know how bad things were. How bad you were."

"I know," said Jet quietly. He remembered the excuses he'd made to himself and to his conscience; he remembered all the people he'd killed, the way they'd looked and the sounds they'd made as they died. A great and terrible distance lay between the thrill of battle and the memory of it afterward. It wasn't only his burning village that Jet saw in his dreams.

"After the Avatar left — and that girl, Katara — it was like you finally saw it, too. That you couldn't go on that way anymore. But it was awful, watching you go through that. Like you'd realized things were wrong but you didn't know what to do about it, or how to make it better." Her arm around him tightened, and Jet's chest ached from the sadness in her voice. "You seemed so lost."

A cold, weary feeling settled in Jet's stomach. It was his own fault that she'd waited so long to say these things to him. The man he'd been would've slouched off into the woods by now, muttering about how she didn't understand. It was easy to forget how much had changed

"You wanted to come here to Ba Sing Se and start over, so we came with you. We kept hoping you'd figure things out, but you were still so…everywhere. Reckless. That thing with the captain's food. Asking some guy you'd just met to join the Freedom Fighters." Jet imagined he could hear her rolling her eyes. "You were so crazy about him, and he took up all your time. Made you do stupid things."

Jet couldn't help smiling a little, remembering those first few days in the city. Li had told Jet to leave him alone at least a dozen times, but Jet hadn't been able to help himself. He'd turned up at Pao's teashop and been too much of a nuisance to ignore. "Really stupid," he said, managing a soft chuckle. "Like with those flowers. And the apron."

"Yeah," she said. "But you know…you were happy. You smiled. I hadn't seen you smile like that in…shit." She sighed. "Years."

"Guess so."

"It happened so slowly, but…I dunno. I dunno when I noticed. But it was like you'd found yourself again. Who you used to be, when we were younger. Before the raid when all those kids died. Before we started fighting people who weren't soldiers."

"You think that was him?" Jet asked, so quiet he could hardly hear himself.

Her other arm came up, her hand tucking itself into the crook of his elbow. "Those weeks when he was gone…it was like we were back in the forest again. You were almost as bad as before."

Jet stiffened at that, a dozen protests already half-formed on his lips, but he clenched his jaw and swallowed them.

He felt another hand on his shoulder, above where Smellerbee's head rested. "It's okay to need someone," said Longshot.

"I know," Jet murmured. "It's just…" He had to laugh, the absurdity of his life too much to bear otherwise. "I could've picked someone less…fuck. Royal? Fire Nation?"

"Maybe," said Smellerbee. She wasn't laughing. She sounded thoughtful, and when Jet glanced at her he saw her chewing her bottom lip. "Maybe he's a good thing. Maybe this is our chance to build something bigger. More than just some houses in the forest. More than a few Freedom Fighters going on raids."

Jet looked down into the valley. Zuko was close enough that Jet could see his face, the tension of focus in his mouth and right eye and the blankness of his scar. On the ferry, Jet had seen that old injury as a bond between them, a testament to the suffering they'd both endured. And it still meant that, he knew. The Fire Nation had taken Zuko's life away, as surely as it had taken Jet's.

What Jet had told the Dai Li hadn't all been false confidence. He could feel the winds shifting, had listened carefully to what Iroh and the others had said — Ozai's time was ending, if not now then very soon. The question was what would follow. The road home had narrowed for Zuko, but it hadn't closed entirely. Things were different for him. More different than Jet was ready to think about.

"Maybe he can do things the rest of us can't," Smellerbee said gently. "Not on our own."

Jet pressed his hand against his heart, feeling its beat through his brestbone. "I keep thinking there's no way this can work," he said. "We'll fight tomorrow, and then…I don't know. If we lose, that's it. If we win, great, but…where do we even go from there?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"I want to stay with you," he said, though he could hear how stubborn it sounded. "You're my family."

Longshot raised an eyebrow, and Smellerbee frowned again. "Jet," she said.

He watched Zuko move through another set. The flames were too bright for Jet to see anything outside the light they cast. There was no sky, no distant hillside, no wall. Only Zuko and Iroh and the burning air between them, men whose destinies were too big for Jet to see, dwarfing everything he'd ever known.

"He says he wants to be with me," Jet murmured. "But I don't think he understands how things'll be. How they'll have to be."

"If he was going to leave you, he would've done it a long time ago."

Jet swallowed. He took slow, deep breaths to sooth his racing heart. "I don't want him to fuck up his life for me," he said.

"He won't," Bee whispered. She curled her arm around his ribs but there was nothing else for her to say. Jet reached up and squeezed her small shoulders, his hand clasping Longshot's wrist. The three of them stood together for some time, watching the firelight in silence.

The slope down into the valley was steep, and Zuko looked up at the sound of Jet's descent, boots sliding on rocks and dead leaves. "Jet!" he said, grinning as he bounded across the clearing, his cheeks flushed from the heat and exercise. "Uncle was just showing me an advanced set. He says he learned it from Masters Ran and Shao in the north, it's totally different, there's a…" He trailed off, and the redness in his cheeks darkened. "Sorry. You probably don't want to hear about-"

"It's fine," said Jet. He brushed his knuckles against Zuko's cheek. He could feel the heat rising, and he leaned in to kiss Zuko's mouth, soft and chaste but lingering. "Tell me," he said as he pulled away. "I want to know."

oOo

"It's a long, long way to Ba Sing Se, but the boys in the city they look so pretty!" Zuko was fairly sure that everyone else had sung "girls" but Jet was closer and louder, and his voice was most of what Zuko could hear. "And they kiss so sweet that you've really got to meet the boys from Ba Sing Se!" He drew the last syllable out, hugging Zuko's shoulders with one arm as the other gestured dramatically.

"I don't think that's how it goes," said Zuko.

"It's how it goes for me, handsome," said Jet, his breath warm against Zuko's ear, and Zuko couldn't help laughing. He never quite knew how to react when Jet was like this, but he'd missed it. It felt good to sit together so easily, on the ground in a circle of firelight, the grinning faces of their friends all around them. Zuko took another sip from the tiny cup of baijou Uncle had handed him, gentler than what his crew had once preferred. It tasted of anise and burned pleasantly as it went down, and Zuko found he didn't mind when Jet leaned in to kiss his neck, or how the runners that noticed snickered behind their hands. Jet brushed the inside of Zuko's thigh as he reached to pick up his own cup, and the smile at the corners of his mouth settled any question as to his intentions.

The campsite was larger than Zuko had expected. Uncle had explained before how many men he'd brought, but Zuko had imagined a few threadbare tents in a circle around the fire, the way they'd slept in exile when no barns or empty cottages could be found. Instead, they'd arrived to find a tidy village of canvass domes, most large enough to sleep a half-dozen men with room to spare. Still more tents had been struck in the small, sheltered valley that afternoon, and by the time Jet and Zuko and the rest of those who'd lingered at the Jasmine Dragon arrived, most of the Freedom Fighters had claimed a matt to sleep on.

Zuko had weathered far worse storms than this one. He understood the importance of distraction, how much better it was to channel what boiled inside him into something he could control, instead of keeping it stoppered up until it exploded out of his grasp. On his own, he would have trained to the point of exhaustion, this new, sharp grief pouring from his hands as flame until he felt empty again. But once the moon had risen over the hills, Uncle and Jet had both insisted on the need to unwind, and they had had their own ideas regarding how.

An enormous pot of duckupine stew had already been bubbling when they rejoined the others, eaten quickly and followed by more baijou than was probably wise. The soldiers Zuko didn't recognize all seemed to be older than him, though he couldn't say for certain where they were from. At least half were Earth Kingdom, judging from their clothes. Two or three were Water Tribe, all of them men who deferred to Pakku the way a student might. The rest seemed to be from the colonies, though Zuko couldn't imagine why they'd have chosen to come here. Colonists had a more than usual interest in the Fire Nation's grip on this kingdom — there was no saying what might happen to them if the homeland were to withdraw.

Zuko had expected the kids to be skittish, shaken by what had happened and anxious about what might follow. And they had been, for the first half of their meal. But Jet's campaign of levity had been relentless. He had wolfed down his food, and while the others finished he'd told stories about their first few battles in the city, exaggerated for effect and full of pantomimed action. The kids had been immediately absorbed, laughing at his impressions of Ping and Zuko and cheering in all the right places. The strangers, too, had seemed interested, watching Jet over the rims of their bowls, lips twitching into smiles.

Then Jin, already drunker than Zuko had ever seen her, had raised her cup and called for a song. After four choruses of "Long Way to Ba Sing Se," Zuko had found himself regretful that he'd so consistently avoided music night on his ship. He mumbled along with the words he knew, but most of these were Earth Kingdom songs that traveled no farther than the coastal colonies, nothing like the court music he'd learned as a child.

"Little girls following a flock of hogsheep," Jet was singing now, rocking them both back and forth in time with the rhythm. "The glow of the sunset follows them back, follows them back, follow me back to the valley so deep!"

Zuko wasn't sure what to make of Jet's high spirits that night. By any measure, it had been a terrible day for them all: so much lost in the span of an afternoon and so little to show for it afterward. His own thoughts were an uncertain tangle, relief and mourning and anxiousness all bleeding into each other. There was no space in this camp or this night for him to puzzle his way through it; no time to find his certainty again. Necessity would have to be enough to pull him through tomorrow.

He'd lost his home like this before, destroyed in a rush of violence that nearly took him with it. He'd lived on that boat for three years, but his affection for it had been reluctant; tinged with the shame of his reasons for being there at all. The Jasmine Dragon had been different. He felt more than just the loss of a familiar bed; the absence of routine. Living there had felt different than living on his ship, different even than his childhood in the palace.

He watched Jet belt out the last verse of the song, mouth wide and eyes smiling. Together, they'd made a home out of a teashop. It hadn't been at all the same. And now it was gone.

Jet knocked back another cup of liquor, wincing as it settled in his stomach. "Fuck," he said conversationally. "You know what we need?"

Zuko chuckled. "What?"

"We need some fucking dancing," said Jet. He held out his cup for Zuko to take and pushed himself to his feet, far steadier than he had any right to be. Zuko carefully set both cups down where they wouldn't be trampled and followed Jet across the circle, to where he was already in a huddle with Jin and Xue Sheng.

They quickly agreed that "Axi Under the Moon" was the way to go, but there was some variation from region to region, and as others left their bowls behind and came over to offer their opinions a fierce debate broke out. At first Jet insisted that as he'd actually grown up in the mountains where the dance was from, his word should be the final one. But Ping's lieutenant, Ni Shui Jian, turned out to have been born in the same area, and soon he and Jet were deep in intense negotiations regarding the order of sets and how long each of them should last.

"We only have a few flutes and two dasanxian," said Xue Sheng, who held one of the long-necked, three-stringed instruments and was plucking it experimentally.

"You think we had dasanxian in the forest?" Jet laughed. "I'll show you, it'll be fine." Then, a little louder for the benefit of those outside their knot of discussion, "Anyone know how to play the flute?"

"I can," said Zuko quietly. "A little."

Jet grabbed one from the collection of mismatched instruments and thrust it into Zuko's hands, beaming with excitement. "Just follow me," he said.

Xue Sheng turned out to have studied country dances and songs in his anthropology courses, and as Jet ran off to gather more dancers Xue Sheng taught Zuko the simple tune. Zuko's fingers felt stiff and clumsy on the holes of the bamboo flute, but Xue Sheng seemed pleased to have a skill to share. By the time Jet had returned from his rounds, Xue Sheng had patiently lead Zuko through several repetitions, and the flute had begun to feel familiar again.

"I haven't done this since I was a boy," Ping muttered, uncharacteristic both in his nervousness and in his hesitant smile.

Zuko had never heard of this dance before, but a surprising number of Freedom Fighters seemed to know it, even the city kids like Roo and Xiao Si Wang. Many of those who didn't were cheerful enough to try and learn, and soon most of the camp had arranged itself into pairs. Apparently the men were supposed to play instruments, but there weren't nearly enough to go around. Instead, most of the men's side of the line followed Jet's lead, sticks and scabbards filling in for dasanxian. Zuko tried to mimic Jet's posture with the much-smaller flute as Wang quietly took the place across from him, red-cheeked and serious.

By then Xue Sheng, Uncle and a few of the older Earth Kingdom strangers had settled at the edge of the circle, instruments in hand as they worked out the last details of their arrangement.

"Ready?" Jet called, standing across from Jin with his stick draped over his shoulders.

Uncle stomped his foot to set the rhythm, and within several beats the melody had taken shape, flutes and dasanxian playing a more complicated version of the one Zuko had learned. He watched Jet carefully, following him as exactly as he could given the difference in what they held. Jet hummed the dasanxian part as he spun, hopping lightly from foot to foot, the dance punctuated by quick kicks and half-bows. Soon Zuko found the patterns in it, saw the changes coming and anticipated what the next set would be. He had danced very little in his life but the basics of it came easily. He followed Jet as he had when they sparred, flowing from one movement to the next, the tune so simple that he had no trouble playing it even as he whirled. He felt graceless and foolish and was sure he looked ridiculous, but that didn't seem important just then. Jet was grinning and his voice was clear and strong and his gaze followed Zuko, intense and unwavering.

Zuko looked down the line of dancers, mostly divided by gender but not entirely, the men's side playing their instruments — real or improvised — and the women clapping a measured applause. Wang frowned in concentration, eyes on her feet and mouth moving as she counted. Jin's was open with laughter, her affect playfully mocking, as if her claps were a taunt instead of appreciation. Ni Shui Jian teased Ping about his footwork, which Ping bore with wry exasperation, grumbling about how his lieutenant was hardly an inspiring partner. Longshot and Smellerbee moved with the quiet ease of familiarity, relaxed and unhurried and perfectly balanced.

"Hey, Wang!" Jet called. "Switch with me!"

Wang giggled a little, and as the next set began she and Jet swapped places, Jin laughing louder than ever when Jet tossed his stick to Wang and offered a coquettish little bow toward his new partner. Zuko's cheeks were hot but he was smiling, and soon he'd found his rhythm again, carried along by the music and the dancers around him, the flow a comfortable one to settle into.

He remembered the opera house in the capital, all gilt molding and lacquered wood, and the performances his mother had brought him to. There had been some dancing on those evenings — a reed-thin woman alone on the stage, poised and calm as still water, a fan snapping open and shut in her hand. On the way home in their palanquin, his mother had explained to him what those dances meant, how every movement contained a story and every tilt of her head suggested a vast sea of emotion. Precision and subtlety had been the ideal, all meaning coded and contained; distant in its rigidity.

Tonight, the dance was anything but distant. They hardly touched, but Zuko could feel the push and pull between them — his body drawn into the void left when Jet moved away, the bobbing end of his flute answering the claps of Jet's bandaged hands, each rock of his hips and shoulders mirrored by Jet's own, as if a thread connected them.

It ended with both of them out of breath and laughing, Jet's arms around him again, one hand at the small of Zuko's back and his mouth tasting of baijou. Zuko let him take the time he wanted, his insides warm with alcohol and exercise and the feel of Jet's tongue against his own. He didn't care who was watching. Better the strangers know how things were now than be surprised later.

Jet kissed him once more, quick and playful, before he pulled away. As they walked to the edge of the circle again, Zuko noticed how many of the Fire Nation colonists had sticks in their hands, chatting animatedly with each other and shouting compliments at the musicians. Ping was listening to a small group of what might have been Earthbenders, his arms crossed over his chest. Ni Shui Jian and Piandao were crouched beside Uncle, grinning between glances at Jeong Jeong's back. A group of runners had formed a circle around Pakku's students, and cheered enthusiastically as the Waterbenders indulged them with complicated tricks.

Pakku himself was crosslegged in front of his tent, smoking a long, thin pipe as he watched the crowd. Jet steered them in that direction and sat down with less grace than was usual, laughing at his own clumsiness. "Man, this place is crawling with Fire Nation," he said, his tone light. Zuko tensed a little, unsure as to how he should react, but Jet tugged at his arm until he joined them on the ground.

"They come in handy from time to time," said Pakku. Smoke curled around his face as he spoke.

Jet chuckled and draped an arm over Zuko's shoulders. "How'd you fall in with these guys anyway?"

Pakku's eyebrows arched. "Iroh didn't tell you?"

"Not really," said Zuko softly. "I remember Master Piandao from the palace, and I think Uncle mentioned Jeong Jeong once or twice. But I…" He swallowed, his eyes on his hands. "He didn't say anything when we were at the North Pole."

"No, I suppose he wouldn't have," said Pakku. He was quiet for a time, and Zuko glanced up to find him watching the center of the clearing. Piandao had dragged a reluctant Jeong Jeong into the circle, and Uncle was calling to them from amongst the musicians, sungi horn in hand. Zuko couldn't make out what Uncle was saying, but Jeong Jeong had the weary look of a man being talked into something.

"I've known your Uncle a long time," said Pakku. "Since we were both much younger men." The bowl of the pipe flared as he inhaled, the light reflected in his eyes. "We're members of the same ancient society, one that crosses the borders between nations."

"You mean the Order of the White Lotus," said Zuko, thinking back to an afternoon waiting in a flower shop.

Jet frowned a little. "The what?"

"Sometimes when we were traveling, Uncle would play a game of Pai Sho with some old person in a bar or at an inn," Zuko explained. "They were weird games, too. Like all the moves were set ahead of time. The tiles would form a lotus on the board, and they'd say some stuff to each other and then he'd leave me alone to go talk in the back room." Zuko turned to Pakku again. "You're in that club, too?"

"It's a bit more than a club," Pakku grunted. "But yes. All of us are. Your uncle is a Grand Lotus, I'm surprised he never told you any of this."

The music began again, Uncle's horn accented by drums, and Zuko watched as Piandao and Jeong Jeong moved to stand opposite each other. "I guess there's a lot of stuff he didn't tell me," said Zuko.

The arm around his shoulders tightened. "Well, no one's told me shit," said Jet, his tone still light. "So how about you fill me in."

Pakku tapped the ash from his pipe and reached into his tunic. "Jeong Jeong and I were invited to join when we were only a bit older than you," he said as he drew out a small pouch. "Jeong Jeong was a favorite student of another Grand Lotus, Master Kuzon. He and Iroh were friends even then, from when they were at the academy together. But Iroh was a…different man in those days." He packed tobacco into the bowl of his pipe with one thumb, unhurried and methodical, then held it out toward Zuko.

Zuko lit it with a quick gesture. "Different how?"

"He was a prince," said Pakku. "He had a beautiful wife. A brilliant military career. The Order was a game to him, then. Something to fill the time between conquests." He pulled a long, slow breath through the pipe. Together they watched as Piandao and Jeong Jeong began to circle each other, knees bent and arms drawing slow, careful patterns. "Kuzon argued against offering him membership for a long time. He'd been a close friend of Avatar Aang before the war, and Iroh was Sozin's grandson. But King Bumi -"

"Wait, you mean that crazy guy from Omashu?" Jet asked.

Pakku sighed. "Yes. That Bumi," he said wearily. "Maybe he saw something of himself in Iroh, even then. They're both a little…off. And once Piandao joined — one of the youngest initiates in history, you know, barely seventeen — we had eyes and ears in the capital. So the offer was made, and Iroh took it."

"You had Piandao spy on _Uncle_?" said Zuko. He tried to imagine Uncle as a threat, but it seemed ridiculous. All that came to mind was a genial smile and a pot of tea. "What did you think he was going to do?"

"The entire point of the order is to preserve the art and beauty of the world," said Pakku, somewhat incredulous, as if he wasn't sure why this had to be explained. "And at the time your uncle was the heir to the throne of the Fire Nation."

_So am I_, Zuko thought, automatic even now. Aloud, he said, "But Uncle's always talking about how the four nations should balance each other."

"Iroh lead the only campaign to ever force its way through the outer walls of this city," said Pakku. "If your cousin had lived, other things might have gone very differently. Ba Sing Se might have fallen. Iroh might have been crowned Fire Lord instead of your father."

"But isn't…that's what you wanted, right?"

"What we wanted was for him to understand," said Pakku. "I'm just sorry the lesson came at so high a price."

"Understand what?" He couldn't tell if Pakku was being intentionally opaque, or if he himself was simply too thick to see what should have been obvious. Beside him, Jet was quiet and very still, his eyes on the dancers and his lips pressed together.

"How much had changed since the Avatar disappeared," said Pakku. "How far the world had fallen. You boys are too young to remember how things were, but you know what happened to the Air Nomads. You've seen the colonies here in the Earth Kingdom. You know what would have happened to my tribe if Aang hadn't been there."

Zuko did know. Zhao had killed the Moon Spirit, and Zuko remembered how the world had gone grey, the moon itself a black hole in the sky. He was a Firebender, but he'd felt the shift inside him — a sort of dizzy nausea, as if the ground had tilted like the deck of a ship.

Pakku blew out a long, thin stream of smoke. "He had to understand what we'd lost. How important it was to hold onto what was left."

They sat at the very edge of the firelight, apart from where the others had gathered to watch Piandao and Jeong Jeong perform. Freedom Fighters and White Lotus alike cheered them on, the dance a sort of ritualized duel, its movements reminding Zuko of the Firebending forms his uncle had taught him that night.

"You know this one?" Jet asked softly.

Zuko shook his head. It was a little like the dances his crew had indulged in on his ship, but nothing like what he'd ever seen at home. "My father didn't believe in…" Zuko paused and chuckled a little. It all seemed so absurd. "He called them 'peasant rituals.' He said they were beneath us."

Jet snorted. "Shows what he knows."

"Yeah," said Zuko. "Guess so." He slid a hand around Jet's waist, leaning closer. They watched the rest of the dance in silence. He could feel Uncle's sungi horn vibrating in his bones, the melody ancient and joyful and just at the edge of familiar, unrestrained as it echoed off the hillsides. Zuko listened and watched and felt the answering song in his heart, an eager fire that warmed him from within. His father had taken this from him, and he had never known.

The dance ended, and Uncle came to join their little group, the sungi horn now under Piandao's care. "I told Jeong Jeong one never forgets the Api Randai," he said as he settled between Zuko and Pakku. "Even if it has fallen out of fashion."

"Zuko was just telling us your brother's not big on dancing," said Jet amiably. "What, does he just hate fun or something?"

"He does not see the use in it, I think," said Iroh. "Although it was our grandfather who first forbid Randai at court. Perhaps because it was a favorite of Avatar Roku's."

"That was the Avatar before…Aang," said Zuko, the name awkward to say and strange to hear in his own voice.

"Yes, he was," said Iroh. He hesitated, then, enough for Zuko to notice. "And your great-grandfather, as well. On your mother's side."

Zuko was glad for Jet's body beside him, warm and solid and comforting. Uncle's words had caught him entirely off-guard, and he clung to the other boy like a lifeline, tying him to the world he understood. "You never told me," he said, unsure what else he _could_ say.

"The two of them were friends, once," said Uncle, "before the question of war divided them. Roku believed in peace and balance. Sozin hungered for conquest and power. In the end, it was Sozin who won. Avatar Aang was born into a world on the brink of the war you know." He smiled at Jet, a little sadly. "It has been this way for some time, you see. Our family has long been torn between love and hatred."

Zuko's grip on Jet was likely hard enough to hurt, but he couldn't relax it. Connections blazed through his memory, linking Uncle's words to Pakku's, to his own life and the things he had done. "Uncle," he said. "You must be…happy. To finally have me on your side." He didn't know why he'd said it, exactly. He hoped Uncle would laugh and tell him he'd misunderstood.

But Uncle beamed with obvious pride, tears shining at the corners of his eyes. He reached out and grasped Zuko's shoulder, just above where Jet's hand rested. "You are not the man you used to be, Prince Zuko," he said, hoarse with emotion. "You are stronger and wiser and freer than you have ever been. You came to the crossroads of your destiny and you chose the path of light. Of good. I have never been more proud to think of you as my son."

"But…" Zuko could feel Jet's heartbeat quicken where his arm pressed against the other boy's chest. "I was hunting the Avatar. For years. And you helped me."

Uncle's smile dimmed somewhat. "It was what you wanted," he said.

Zuko felt sick. The pleasant warmth in his chest had drained away, leaving him cold and unsettled. "But why didn't you stop me? If you…" He swallowed. "If you knew I was wrong, why didn't you tell me?"

"You are a good man with a kind heart," said Iroh softly. "I trusted that you would find your own way, when you were ready to see it."

"But you could have just told me!" said Zuko, close to shouting.

"Zuko…" Uncle lowered his eyes. In that moment he looked tired and sad, and the sadness added years to his lined face. "Would you have listened?"

He couldn't bear to see his uncle like this. He looked away, into the fire, and dug his fingers into the folds of Jet's clothes. He knew the answer, but he couldn't say it. Just thinking it made his stomach churn and his face burn with shame.

Jet rose to his feet, dusting the twigs and dirt from his pants. "I think we should go for a walk," he said. "Get some air."

Iroh smiled softly and nodded. Jet held out his hand, and Zuko allowed himself to be pulled up, Jet's arm around his shoulders again as soon as he was standing. Together they walked away from the fire and voices, toward the moonlit hills.

oOo

The creek was different at night. The moon was bright and strong but its light was indiscriminate, catching blades of grass and ripples of water with the same intensity; the same color, blue-white against black. Zuko knelt on the damp, sandy dirt, knees soaked within moments and hands buried in the pebbles along the bank. He could hear the current as it tumbled over smooth rocks, but the sound held no comfort that night. It reminded him of the ocean and the life he'd lived upon it, the man he'd been then and all the things that he'd done.

He splashed cold water on his face, ran his hand down over his eyes and mouth. Beside him Jet was quiet and watchful, the moonlight picking out strands of his hair and pooling in his eyes.

The months flickered by as if reflected in the dark water, disjointed bits and pieces that twisted like a knife in his gut. He remembered the pure, unquestioning clarity he had felt on the deck of his ship as a column of light burst from the horizon and reached up into the sky. Not the beacon of hope it should have been — must have been to Uncle and to anyone else with a heart in their chest and half a brain in their head — but a promise. A ticket home that he should never have needed; the answer to a quest he should never have been sent on.

He remembered, too, that early morning in the forest, how he'd opened his eyes and seen not the inside of a prison cell but the high arch of a canopy, golden light filtering through the leaves. He remembered the pillow of moss and leaves beneath his head, the careful way he'd been laid out in the curve of a dry riverbed. And the Avatar, crouched only a few feet away, his voice a little sad as he spoke of loss and friendship.

"I could've ended it then," he said. "That's what he wanted. He saved me from Zhao and I could've helped him. I could…" He swallowed and shook his head. "Jee always said I was selfish, and he was right. I was a stupid, selfish kid."

Jet lay a hand on Zuko's back. If he was confused as to what Zuko meant, he gave no indication. "You made a mistake," he said, his tone flat. "We've all made mistakes, Zuko."

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut. He thought of pirates and bounty hunters, burned villages and frightened old women, all his desperate attempts to slow the Avatar down long enough to be caught. He knew that Zhao had been his fault, as well; that his crew and his own, poor efforts at deception had set the entire Eastern Fleet on the Avatar's trail. "I did so many awful things," he said. "I wasted so much of his time. He could've been mastering the elements instead of running away from me. The war could've been over by now. If I'd just left him alone-"

"Zuko." Jet's voice was sharper, now, on the edge of anger. "Don't."

"But if I'd-"

"You can't know what would've happened," said Jet. "That guy…Zhao? What if you hadn't been there to steal Aang back from him?"

That Jet had remembered so small a thing — that he'd listened so closely that night in the old apartment — gave Zuko an odd moment of cheer. But when Zuko looked up at him his expression was serious, and Zuko could see he took no pleasure in remembering, "I don't know," said Zuko. "He would've tried to take the Avatar home to my father, but-"

"You can't know." Jet's face was in shadow, but Zuko could see the deep crease in his brow and the frown that pulled at his mouth. "Sometimes it's the small stuff that changes everything."

Zuko reached back over his shoulder and took Jet's hand, their fingers weaving together. "I could've killed him," he said.

Jet snorted, not quite a laugh. "Have you ever killed anyone? Even once?" They both knew the answer, so he went on, squeezing Zuko's hand as he spoke. His words were clipped and trembling, the emotion beneath them bound up in tight sentences. "Zuko. _I_ could've killed him. I know that. You think I don't wonder? If he'd been a little slower? If I'd gotten lucky? At least you had a good reason to fuck with him-"

"Jet, no, I was just-"

"You had a good reason. You wanted to go home. I get that, okay? I do." It pulled the breath from Zuko's lungs, to hear Jet say that. It made him want to turn and wrap his arms around Jet's neck, to push his face against the soft skin under his jaw. But he knew Jet wasn't finished; could hear how badly he needed to say these things. So he held the other boy's hand a little tighter and listened, to the water and the wind in the trees and the quiet voice beside his ear.

"He was trying to stop me from drowning an entire village," Jet rasped, "and I almost killed him for it. I think about that every day, Zuko. Every fucking day. But we can't take back the shit we've already done. We just have to live with it." He sniffed and dragged a hand across his eyes, and Zuko couldn't resist any longer. He pulled Jet into his arms, clumsy with urgency, his own eyes prickling as he buried his face in Jet's hair. Jet's arms were like iron bands across his back, fingers twisted into Zuko's shirt, and for a time they only held each other and breathed.

"That's our punishment, you know?" Jet whispered. "Remembering. We can't take it back. All we can do is try and make it right again."

"We will," said Zuko, fierce and certain. "We'll figure it out." He smoothed the hair back from Jet's forehead, kissed it and then smiled a little. "Or, you know…you will. And then you'll tell me what to do."

Jet laughed softly as his grip on Zuko eased. "I don't think that's how it's gonna go."

"That's how it's been," said Zuko. The rocky ground was sharp under his knees, so he shifted into a more comfortable position, legs stretched out and Jet seated between them, his shoulder against Zuko's chest. Zuko stroked Jet's hair and looked up at the sky, the moon so bright that he could barely see the stars. This far north, they were different than the ones he remembered from his childhood, the constellations not quite where he expected them to be. "I guess I can't be sorry about how things went," he said. "About the Avatar. If I'd joined him, I'd probably be in the Fire Nation right now, with his friends and that Haru guy." He lay his hand flat on Jet's chest, fingers splayed over his breastbone. "I might never have met you."

Jet covered Zuko's hand with his own. "Probably not."

"I guess that's a pretty bad reason to be glad I acted like a jerk."

"Yeah, it is." Jet chuckled and turned his head, his hand reaching up to pull Zuko into a kiss. "I'm glad, too, though," he said once they'd parted, lips brushing Zuko's as he spoke. "So we're assholes together."

"That's good." Zuko kissed him again, his fingers sliding into the short hair at the nape of Jet's neck. His chest felt tight, like his ribs were too small for his heart and lungs and the feeling that burned in his stomach. He didn't know what to say — how to translate that heat into words that could bear its weight. "I'm glad I met you, Jet," was the best he could manage. But he meant it, and he hoped Jet understood what lay beneath. "Really really glad."

Jet's fingers traced the edge of Zuko's scar, skimmed along the shell of his burned ear and the line of his jaw. "Zuko," he said.

The ground was wet and rocky under Zuko's back, pebbles digging between his ribs and the knobs of his spine, a little painful with the weight of two boys bearing down on them. But Zuko pushed his hands inside Jet's tunic — slid his fingers over the raised lines of old scars, the flat planes of muscle in Jet's back, the sharp angles of his shoulder blades — and he didn't care about the pain. He cared about Jet's hot, eager mouth; the salty taste of Jet's throat under his tongue; the hand that tugged his pants out of the way and reached between his legs.

"Baby, I need you," Jet whispered, and Zuko cared about that, too. No one had ever needed him before. Not like this. He felt the same hunger he saw in Jet's eyes, even if he didn't understand it. He pulled Jet closer, kissed him more deeply, his body saying what his mouth could not.

That summer, as he'd wrapped himself in this new life and all its complications, Zuko had sometimes missed the way things were before, his years on the ocean with so clear a purpose. His search had consumed him, guided every action and informed every decision he made, his focus singular. He'd known, abstractly, that the point was to regain his inheritance; that if he succeeded, he would someday take his father's place on the throne. But that had always seemed too distant to think of seriously and too painful to really hope for — he had never thought about what it meant, or how his life might change. There had been too many details standing between him and that destiny, too many distractions to ever think that far. Better to concentrate on tomorrow than waste his time with someday.

Tomorrow the Avatar and his men would invade the Fire Nation capital. By nightfall, his father might be dead. Zuko didn't know if he would ever see the Fire Nation again. He didn't know if he would stand against his family in battle if such a thing was asked of him. He didn't know if he wanted that life anymore.

But he knew he wanted this. He wanted this every day.

Jet spit on his fingers, and a moment later Zuko felt a newer, deeper pain, burning and insistent. Zuko grit his teeth until it passed, knees spread wide and his own hands twisted into Jet's hair. They were rushing things, but he didn't care. They'd waited for too long already — since the morning before the Eastern Gate, when he had still been Li — and he didn't want to wait any longer. He felt Jet's fingers move inside him and arched his back, a moan rumbling low in his throat.

"Now," he said, a gasp as much as a word. "Please."

Jet rocked against him, eyes closed and lips parted, Zuko's legs over his shoulders and palms sliding along the backs of Zuko's thighs. "Zuko," he whispered. He kissed one sharp, pale knee; pushed the hair away from Zuko's face and leaned in to kiss his mouth, no matter that their position made it awkward. Zuko held him close, his own erection pressed between their stomachs, the pleasure of it almost more than he could stand. He felt like his skin was on fire. He felt like his heart would shatter itself against his ribs. Jet pushed against that place inside him and he clung even tighter, squeezing with his legs and his arms, as if he might fly apart if he let go.

He would never let go. He had lost so many things in his life — his home, his honor, his family. He wouldn't lose this. "Jet," he panted, over and over again in time with Jet's thrusts, quickening until the words blurred into a moan and the feeling overwhelmed him. He came with a soft, broken cry, rigid between Jet's body and the hard ground. Jet crushed their mouths together, hands on Zuko's hips, and fucked him as he trembled from the aftershocks, drawing them out into a long, slow spiral. Then Jet's own climax ripped through him, and he growled Zuko's name before his arms gave out and the two of them collapsed into a limp, warm heap.

Afterward, they lay on their backs with their fingers twined together, sweat and semen drying on their skin, their clothes bunched into pillows under their heads. They would have to go back to the camp soon. They needed to talk with the others, and to sleep. But they needed this, too — just the two of them and the quiet night. The rest of the world could spare them a little while longer.

"Hey," Jet murmured.

Zuko turned his head a little, far enough to kiss Jet on the cheek. "Yeah?"

"There's…" Jet paused and bit his lip, as if unsure where to begin. "Look. You're gonna have to make some decisions soon. About what you'll do. Where you'll go."

Zuko frowned. "Jet, I don't-"

Jet squeezed his hand. "I need to say this, okay? And it's hard. So just…let me say it."

"All right."

"So." Jet took a deep breath, whistling a little as he let it back out again. "You know, you'll figure it out. You will. And I just…whatever you decided to do, I'll understand. Okay?" He reached up and stroked Zuko's cheek, his smile a little sad. "You do what you need to do. I'll be fine."

"I need to be with you," said Zuko, because it was true.

Jet flinched, unable to hide it entirely. "We'll see," he said. He turned and draped his arm over Zuko's chest, close and comfortable. Then, his breath warm in Zuko's ear, "I'm glad I met you, too, you know."

Zuko kissed his forehead. "I know."

oOoOo


	10. A Chance To Hold On

oOoOo

"Jet?"

He cracked one eye open, the other squashed against Zuko's shoulder. He could see the pale glow of early morning under the canvas flap that served as a door.

"Jet, you awake?" The flap was pushed aside a little, and Roo peered through the gap. There was another shape behind her that might have been Dao, but Jet's vision was still blurry with sleep.

"Yeah," Jet grumbled. He sat up a little and rubbed his eyes with the heel of one hand. "What?"

"Someone's here to talk to you," she said. She sounded both nervous and excited, and that was enough to wake him up the rest of the way.

"Tell 'em I'll be right there," he said, and the flap fell back into place as she scurried off to do so. Jet groaned and stretched his arms above his head, the bones of his spine realigning themselves with a series of loud cracks. Zuko's arm was draped across Jet's stomach, and once Jet sat up he'd sort of curled himself into a ball around the lower half of Jet's body, his head tucked somewhere near Jet's tailbone and one knee drawn up over Jet's legs. Jet poked him in the ribs and was rewarded with a muffled groan.

They'd all stayed up until the small hours with Zuko's uncle and Piandao, honing their plans and shifting men between units. Iroh had made them all tea, strong and fragrant, to keep their minds sharp. But they'd had one day of fighting behind them and another still to come, and eventually their exhaustion had won out.

The inside of the tent was dim, but Jet could see the outlines of other bodies. Longshot and Smellerbee were only a few feet away, making one big lump together. Ping lay with his face to the wall, the blanket pulled up over his head and his feet sticking out past the bottom. Jin's cot was already empty, and Xue Sheng's didn't seem to have been slept in at all.

Jet began to disentangle himself from Zuko's limbs, made more difficult by his own reluctance and Zuko's groggy efforts to hold on. "C'mon, Ping, you too," said Jet as he pried Zuko's fingers from his shirt. "Whatever it is, you should probably hear it."

Ping grunted and pushed himself up, the blanket falling away. His hair was a mess, flatted on one side by his pillow and sticking straight out on the other. He grunted a vague affirmative as he scratched his chin, rough with wiry black stubble.

Jet extended a leg and nudged what was probably Longshot's back with his foot. "You guys should start getting the men organized. Or you know. Awake."

"Ugh," Smellerbee groaned. "You saw how much those kids drank last night."

"Bring Iroh's sungi horn." Jet poked Zuko again, right in the armpit this time, and he gave a satisfying squawk as he pushed Jet's hands away. "Seriously, Zuko, they're waiting on us."

"They're waiting on _you_," Zuko grumbled. But he sat up and combed a hand back through his unruly mop of hair, watching blearily as Ping groped around for his shirt.

Within a minute or so, the three of them were mostly dressed and sufficiently presentable. Su Dao had waited for them in front of the tent, looking much less rattled than he had the day before, and as they followed him across the camp Jet tugged the bindings on his forearms into place. "Remember, you're not hung over," he said. "You're grizzled warriors eager to see some action."

"Sure," Zuko mumbled, the end of it dissolving into a yawn. Ping seemed to be concentrating on the mechanics of walking in a straight line.

The messenger was young and scrawny, dressed in nondescript brown robes that looked too big for him. Roo was perched beside him on an upturned bucket, smiling as she chattered. "I'm probably the fastest," she was saying. She held a stick in one hand and was drawing patterns in the dirt, squares inside circles. "That's why Jet called me Rabbaroo, 'cause I'm so quick. And 'cause I can make this face," she added, scrunching up her nose and curling her lip.

"I see," said the messenger, bemused, as he watched her sniff at the air.

"Hey, Roo, we've got it from here," said Jet. His voice was kind, but Roo had been around the longest of all the runners and she knew when she was being dismissed. She hopped down from the bucket, took Dao's hand and dragged him back toward the cooking fire.

Jet turned his gaze toward the messenger, all business now that the runners were gone, and the younger man stood a little straighter. "I have a message from Commander Quan," he said.

The words hit Jet like cold water, startling him out of what remained of the morning's haze. "All right," he said, slow and careful despite how hard his heart was beating. "Let me hear it."

"There will be no Dai Li agents at the palace," said the messenger, "by order of General Zha."

"What about the rest of the city?"

The boy shifted his weight. "I don't have a message for you about that," he said. "There will be no Dai Li at the palace. That's the message I was given for you. That's all I can say."

Jet wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him, demand to know what the hell was going on, if they'd be drowning in Dai Li agents or if Quan had changed his mind. But Jet knew this kid couldn't help him, whether he wanted to or not. Probably no one had told him the whole truth of it — the Dai Li knew better than most how dangerous information could be.

"Tell Quan my offer stands," said Jet, his words clipped. "If you help us, we'll have your back, whatever happens later. If you don't, you're on your own. We'll let this city tear you traitors apart."

Jet would've left it at that — let the kid go and assumed Quan couldn't be counted on. But Ping stepped forward, tall enough that he threw the young Dai Li into shadow. "I have a message for Quan as well," he rumbled. He looked a little frightening, hair mussed and face unshaven, his gaze furious. "He was there in the crystal catacombs, just as I was. He saw Princess Azula kill the Avatar in cold blood. Ask him if that woman is who he wants to serve. Ask him if helping her destroy this city is how he wants to be remembered."

Wide-eyed and very pale, the messenger gave a single, stiff nod. Then he turned and shot up the hillside on a wave of bent earth, pebbles clicking down the slope as he dropped out of sight over the ridge.

"I didn't know you saw that," said Jet. "You never mentioned it."

"I don't enjoy remembering that day," said Ping. "But we can't afford to forget what we did. What we allowed to happen." He frowned and shook his head. "Never again."

Zuko was still looking at the place where the messenger had stood, his gaze distant. "No Dai Li at the palace," he murmured. "On Zha's orders."

"What d'you think it means?" asked Jet.

"That he doesn't trust Quan," said Zuko. "That he knows something's up, and he's scared. On the defensive. Probably all the strongest Firebenders in the city will be there." He snorted in disgust. "Men like Zha only care about their own skin."

"So he doesn't know about the eclipse," said Jet. "Right? Or he'd have to use the Dai Li. He might not trust them, but he isn't stupid."

"Hard to say for sure but…" Zuko looked up at Jet, a smile pulling at his mouth. "No. I don't think he knows."

"Shit," said Jet, shaking his head. "Shit I just…really? We actually managed to…"

"Yeah," said Zuko.

"The palace is the essential target," said Ping. "If we control Zha, we control the city."

"Shit," said Jet. Then he laughed, a little giddy with disbelief, and swept Zuko into a hug, clapping him on the back. Ping watched them, amused, until Jet reached out and pulled him in, his arms around both mens' shoulders. "We can do this," he said. "We're gonna do this."

"We can," Ping agreed.

Zuko leaned closer to Jet, bumping their foreheads together. "We will."

oOo

Jet found Xue Sheng in one of the smaller tents, bent over a complicated diagram with a brush in his hand and his nose almost touching the parchment. The floor around him was covered in maps, all held open with small stones placed at their corners, glowing buttery yellow in the lantern light. He looked up at the sound of Jet's entrance, squinting in the sunbeams that spilled through the open flap.

"You been here all night?" Jet asked. He kept his eyes down as he crossed the room, seeking out gaps in the carpet of scrolls.

Xue Sheng pushed his spectacles up his nose, frowning as if offended by the suggestion of sleep. "I don't have to fight today," he said. "And this needed to get done." He picked up the diagram he'd been working on and held it out for Jet to take. "New reconnaissance came in last night. They've started using that guardhouse again, and they destroyed two of the bridges over the canal."

"Good work," said Jet. He let the parchment hang from his fingers — he could see some of the ink hadn't quite dried. "Now get some sleep, all right? You've earned it."

Xue Sheng lay down his brush and sat back on his heels. "I don't think I'll be able to," he said quietly. "Not until this is over."

"You'll know either way by sunset," said Jet with deliberate levity. "If we're not back by then, it's because we're dead."

"I know. But I wasn't just thinking about you," said Xue Sheng. "Master Piandao and I were talking last night, after you…left. He thinks it will take at least three days for word to reach us from the Fire Nation. I doubt I'll be sleeping much before then." He frowned thoughtfully, as if something had just occurred to him. "Has anyone talked at all about what we'll do if the Avatar isn't successful? Assuming we can retake Ba Sing Se and assuming not all of our forces are needed to hold it, it might be wise to send reinforcements to aid whatever remains of the invasion force. They'll need-"

"Woah, Sheng," said Jet, holding up his empty hand. "Let's just worry about this afternoon, okay?"

"_Xue_ Sheng," he said, "and some of us don't find any comfort in being willfully short-sighted."

"Well, if you're gonna be awake until then, you'll have plenty of time to think about it," said Jet. He rolled up the map, sloppy but good enough to be getting on with. "As for me, I'm gonna start with breakfast and go from there."

"How is it you're the leader?"

"No one else wanted the job," said Jet, though the cheer was wearing thin. He turned and started back the way he'd come. "See you in a few, if you can stop thinking long enough to eat."

"Jet…" Xue Sheng's frown was serious, the lines of it tense with whatever he needed to say. Enough to make Jet pause beside the door. "I might not have another chance to talk to you."

Jet rubbed the back of his neck. "C'mon, let's not-"

But Xue Sheng interrupted him, and Jet was too surprised to put up much of a fight. It hadn't been so long ago that this man had cowered whenever Jet walked into the room. "I haven't always been a very good Freedom Fighter," he said. "And we don't always agree. Most of the time we don't. You're reckless with yourself and your men. You're stubborn, even when it's obvious that you're wrong. Which you are, constantly, I'm surprised you haven't gotten us all killed." He pushed his glasses up his nose again, scowling at the map-covered floor. "But…being here in this camp. You and Zuko. What you've done." He met Jet's gaze directly, then, determined and unwavering. "I'll write a paper about it, when this is over."

Jet laughed and shook his head as he pushed the tent flap open. "All right. If that's what you want. You can start working on it tonight while you're sitting here not sleeping."

"Good luck," said Xue Sheng, curt but sincere.

"Thanks," said Jet. He let the flap drop back into place, then followed the smell of eggs and jasmine tea.

oOo

"You sure you wanna wear this?" Jet tightened the straps that held the studded gauntlets in place, the leather cracked and stiff. He'd put his armor on while Zuko checked to make sure he had all the pieces of his own — he'd had to take it all apart for cleaning, and there was still greasy soot along the seams. "I saw your uncle and his friends getting ready. They've got their own uniforms, you know? You could-"

"I'm not in the order," said Zuko. He stood patiently still as Jet moved on to the other arm. He could hear the crowd outside their tent, already much louder than it had been when they'd started gearing up. "I'm a Freedom Fighter. So I'll dress like one."

"I guess you are, at that," said Jet. Finished, he thumped Zuko's leather-clad shoulder and flashed a wide, white grin. "Look at you. Big damn hero."

Zuko felt his cheeks flush, and moved to check the fastenings of his scabbard to cover for it. "You're going to tell them about the eclipse, right?"

Jet sighed. "Yeah. Hate that we had to hide it from them to begin with, but…couldn't be helped I guess."

Zuko rested his hand on the hilts of his swords, hung just below his hip. "They'll understand," he said. "They trust you."

"Maybe some of them do." Jet went to the door and parted the canvas flaps, just enough to see through. A thin line of sunlight hit his face, one eye and one cheek illuminated and the rest cast into deeper shadow. "That's a lot of colonists."

"Only a dozen. Maybe fifteen."

Jet frowned. "Still."

"Uncle told them to listen to you, so they will."

"Yeah." The flap closed, and Jet ran a hand back through his hair. "Zuko…I think you should maybe say a little something when I'm done."

"Why?"

"I get that the colonies are different, but…" His hand fell to his side, the thumb hooking into one hilt. "They're Fire Nation, you know?"

Zuko looked down at his Earth Kingdom armor, all green and brown leather and brass fastenings; at the worn hilts of his swords, forged somewhere on the plains. And at his own hands, pale and long-fingered, the hot flow of his chi pooling in them even as he thought about it. "Yeah, I know," he said quietly.

"Hey." Jet reached out to lift Zuko's chin, ducking to meet his lowered eyes. "Nothing you can't do, right? It's gonna be fine."

In this light, Jet's irises were very dark — flecks of brown in deep umber. His skin had paled a little that summer, with so much of their lives taking place at night, but when Zuko lay his hand on Jet's cheek the contrast was still there. He was glad for that; he liked that Jet was different, in some ways if not the important ones. Zuko had grown up in a world of yellow eyes and skin that never saw the sun, all pomp and artifice and cold detachment. He didn't see much use in that world anymore. He had never really belonged there, besides.

They were alone in the tent, so Zuko closed the small distance between them. Their armor creaked as he pressed their chests together, his arms around Jet's neck. Their clothes and hair still smelled like burning wood, but Jet's mouth tasted of jasmine, and Zuko savored it as long as circumstance would allow — slow, lingering kisses that left him a little hot and breathless.

Jet kissed the corner of his eye; the end of his nose. "C'mon," he said.

Jet bent down as they walked out of the tent, found a suitable stalk of grass and tucked it into the corner of his mouth. Everyone else had gathered at the center of the camp, around the remains of the cooking fire, the space barely large enough to hold them all. Near the edge of the crowd, Zuko opened his mouth to ask to be let through, but even as he formed the words a man in a blue and white uniform noticed them coming. He stood aside, and the movement sent a ripple through the others. By some silent consensus, a path to the center opened.

Jet didn't break his stride, outwardly at ease as he walked down the corridor of men. But Zuko felt very strange. Hundreds of eyes followed them as they passed, a low murmur rising and falling just outside what Zuko could properly hear. He had always tried to avoid special treatment. He wasn't a prince anymore, not in any way that counted; certainly not here, in the city his sister had ruined. He hadn't done anything to deserve this kind of respect. He wished he hadn't agreed to speak.

There was no staircase here; no kitchen table to stand on. The gap in the crowd held only a smoldering fire and a barrel half-full of rainwater, high enough to reach Zuko's chest. Jet surveyed it for a moment, as if gauging its integrity. Then he hopped up on top of it in one smooth, graceful movement, boots planted on either side of the rim.

"We have a big day ahead of us," he said, his voice clear and carrying. "Bigger than some of you know. You're my men, my soldiers and my friends, but I've had to hide something from you. A secret that might make all the difference today. I don't know how, but we kept it — from General Zha, from the Dai Li, from everyone. And now I can finally tell you."

Zuko tried to listen as Jet explained about the eclipse — how it would impact their own plans and how, across the ocean, it might decide the fate of the Fire Lord himself. But his own thoughts were too loud and insistent to allow for anything else. Jet wanted him to speak, but though his mind raced through half-formed niceties it all amounted to nothing. During his exile, he'd spent much of his time in the colonies, the only harbors that weren't closed to him by war or politics. But he'd kept the same distance from them as he did from everyone, and they'd regarded him with a mix of pity and detached curiosity. Why would these people care what he had to say?

He scanned what he could see of the crowd, but he couldn't even tell where the colonists were. In the sea of scavenged armor and patched clothes, the White Lotus men stood out easily. But the starched uniformity of their blue and white robes blurred the differences that had seemed so clear last night. He looked for a cluster of the familiar Fire Nation topknots, but couldn't find more than one or two at a time. Where was he supposed to look when he spoke? If he had to make a fool of himself, why couldn't he have done it quietly — taken the handful of colonists aside and sympathized with the pain of what they had to do?

There was a sudden burst of cheers, and Zuko jumped a little as he refocused on Jet and what he was saying. Jet's leg was close to his shoulder, and he reached for it as he listened, his fingers tracing the ridges of cloth bindings. The touch calmed him, and Jet's voice coalesced into words again. "I can't promise you that we'll win," he was saying, low and serious. "I can't promise you that all of us will be here tonight. But whatever happens today, remember that we did something. We fought back. We didn't lie down in the dirt and wait to be forgotten." Jet paused, then, and Zuko could feel the wave of tension that passed through his body, the muscles in his leg contracting. "I can't promise you," he went on, quiet enough that the crowd seemed to hold its breath to hear him. "But you know…I think we _will_ win. Because we have to. Because this city needs us. Because the Avatar's counting on us. And I don't know about you…" Zuko could hear the grin creep back into Jet's voice; could almost see the high arch of his eyebrows, raised in good humor. "…But I'd hate to disappoint him."

The crowd erupted with approval, swords raised and helmets waved in the air. The older men looked a little startled at the sudden chaos, but they were smiling, and some of the loudest shouts and whistles came from soldiers in White Lotus robes. Jet hopped down from the barrel, light as a cat, and clapped Zuko on the back. "You ready?" he asked, leaning in close to be heard over the noise.

Zuko looked at the crowd and tried to swallow the hard lump of panic in his throat. "Shouldn't you…introduce me or something?"

Jet reached up to brush Zuko's hair out of his face, tucking it behind the scarred ear. "They know who you are," he said softly.

Zuko had no trouble getting up on top of the barrel, but he felt ridiculous once he was there. From this height he could see the entire assembly, dozens of soldiers in robes and armor. There were little pockets of sameness, friends clustered together and whispering behind their hands, but mostly the groups had bled into each other. The faces Zuko knew best were scattered all over — Xue Sheng and Piandao mingling with last night's musicians; Jin and Uncle speaking with the cook who'd made them all breakfast; Xiao Si Wang standing shyly beside a group of robed women, Roo seated on her shoulders. The runners had climbed up on top of the largest tent to get a better view, and one of the younger Waterbenders sat among them, listening patiently to something Dao was saying.

Zuko stood on the barrel feeling stupid and awkward. He tried to think of something — anything — to say, before the window of opportunity closed and the crowd's attention wandered. But as the silence stretched on, the men quieted and turned to watch him, their faces expectant. Zuko looked back at them, sick with nervousness and dizzy from the racing of his heart, his mind wiped clean of everything but the desire to get back down again.

A hand pressed against his ankle, just enough pressure to be felt through his high leather boot. Like an anchor, holding him steady in the current.

"I…" The word cracked, and he felt his cheeks burn as he licked his lips and tried again. "I'm not sure what Jet wants me to say to you. I think he asked me to speak because…well, some of you are Fire Nation. Firebenders, like me. And I think I'm supposed to talk about how I understand what you're going through. What it's like to fight your own people. I'm supposed to tell you that it's worth it. That it's the right thing to do, even if it's hard. And…" His eyes moved over the crowd, rapt faces all turned toward him. He swallowed, and when he went on his voice had steadied a little. "It is. It's all of those things.

"I almost left, once. I didn't think it mattered if I stayed or not. And you know…it's easier to be selfish, really. It's easier to think you aren't important. That someone else will fix things if you don't. But I was wrong to think that. We're all important. We can all do something, even if it takes a while to…to figure out what that thing should be. Where we're needed." He felt Jet squeeze his ankle. He wished that he could see Jet's face.

"None of us have to be here," he said, quiet and serious. "No one's making any of you stay. You're here because there's something awful happening in this city. Something that should never have happened at all. It's wrong, what my sister did. What my father did. My grandfather. My great-grandfather." He thought of the university — of the walls, the streets, the place where they had lived. He thought of ruined villages and razed temples, orphans and widows. His throat tightened but he went on, pushed down his grief and forged it into words. "It's wrong, and we're here because we can't stand it anymore. Because our hearts are telling us we have to stop it.

"Jet wanted me to stand up here and talk to my people. He meant the colonists, but…" Zuko held his arms apart, chest tight and voice hoarse. "All of you are my people. Everyone who made the choice to stay and do what's right. Everyone who wants for things to change. We're all Freedom Fighters today. We'll free Ba Sing Se from General Zha. The Avatar will free the world from my father. It's…" He looked down, then; met the brown eyes that watched him and smiled. "It's like Jet said. We'll win because we have to."

A wall of sound rose from all around him, the roar of shouts and whistles and cheers so loud that he could feel it in his bones. But his eyes stayed on Jet. He jumped down from the barrel, and Jet's arms were around him before he'd even straightened. The others closed in, hands thumping him on the back and ruffling his hair, voices calling out promises of victory, but Zuko barely noticed. He cupped Jet's head in his hand. He felt the stalk of grass tickle his ear. He said, "I want to stay," and Jet hugged him so hard his ribs ached.

oOo

"How much longer?" Jet whispered, his expression difficult to read behind the special glasses Xue Sheng had made for them — wooden, with narrow slits to see through.

Zuko glanced up, though the sun was still too bright to look at for very long. What had begun as a sliver of darkness had widened to cover a third of its pale, yellow disc. He could feel the shift beginning; the fire in his belly calming by a fraction, just enough to notice once he knew to look for it. "A while," he murmured. "Maybe a half-hour. Probably less."

The disused watchtower where they crouched was strategically minor and meant for only one guard. In the heat of mid-afternoon, the little room was stifling with six bodies crammed inside of it. Zuko wiped at the sweat on his brow and shifted to try and give Xiao Si Wang more room. "What about the guards?" he asked. He was squatting too far from the window to see anything but sky.

Longshot craned his neck, thick brows creased over his glasses. "The same," he said quietly, and Zuko felt a little thrill of hope. They were a hundred or so yards from the palace complex, and pairs of unarmed Fire Nation soldiers were stationed every fifty yards or so along the high, smooth wall. With Ping's help, he and Jet and Wang and Smellerbee and Longshot could easily get past the wall, and unarmed guards meant no spears or arrows would come at them while they were exposed.

The palace was in keeping with the rest of Ba Sing Se — walls within walls and massive in scale. It had been built to repel invading armies, the path from the main gate to the palace itself a wide, flat courtyard with little cover aside from a few dozen flags and stone columns. The Freedom Fighters had realized, early on, that a direct assault would be suicide — they'd never make it across all that open space. They weren't an army. They would forge their own path.

A few months ago, it would have been possible to move through government buildings and bureaucrats' residences undetected, staying hidden all the way to the outer wall of the complex. But Azula had ordered a perimeter three hundred yards wide to be razed, broken only by watchtowers like the one they now hid inside.

Zuko lay his hands on the dusty floor and leaned forward, taking some of the weight off the balls of his feet. They'd timed their arrival with the changing of the guard, and that had been over an hour ago. His knees ached and his muscles were starting to cramp. Xiao Si Wang was tucked into a little ball beside him, head tilted up toward the sun. Smellerbee and Longshot, closest to the window, moved only to check on the guards below. Ping and Jet were bent over a map they'd drawn in the grime, whispering as they pointed.

"I still think we should avoid the moat," Ping murmured. "Too easy to get trapped down there."

"Yeah, but Sheng thinks they've barricaded the servants' entrance," said Jet. "See? Over here. So we might have to go in the front, unless we want to just blast a hole in this wall-"

Ping shook his head. "Too thick. And there's iron in the concrete."

"The moat would keep us out of sight, let us get pretty close."

"There may be archers. We'd be an easy target."

Zuko closed his eyes and took slow, even breaths. The fire inside him had dimmed even further; smoldering coals instead of the warm, steady flame he was used to. He had known to expect this, but it was strange to actually feel it happening. Like the night the Moon Spirit had died, only colder; emptier. He wondered if the guards had noticed it, too; if they would understand what was happening. He wondered if they were afraid.

Zuko watched the sun and thought of that morning, most of it a jumble of last-minute planning and the scramble to ready so many men for battle. There hadn't been much time for well-wishes before they left the camp, but Uncle had pulled Zuko aside, held his shoulders and looked up into his eyes.

"Are you certain you don't need me to go with you?" Uncle had asked.

"We've been doing this for months," Zuko had said, kind but firm. "Extra people would just throw us off. We'll be fine."

Uncle had sighed. "You're right, of course. And I know it is better this way. For you to do this on your own." He'd blinked, and a few tears had escaped down his wrinkled cheek. "But I cannot help but worry that-"

"Uncle…" Zuko had given up on decorum, then, and pulled the old man into a hug. "I've been through worse than this."

"This city has already taken one son from me," Uncle had rasped, his face against Zuko's chest.

Zuko hadn't known what to say. He had patted Uncle's shoulders and thought back through the years of his life, to when he had been a boy in the palace, unmarked and unburdened. He remembered strong, warm hands on his back; the smell of tea leaves and old cloth; a comforting girth too wide to wrap his arms around. He remembered how it had been once his mother had gone; how the days when Uncle was away stretched out into lonely eternity. And he remembered the first night on his ship, how he had lain awake on his hard, metal bed and listened to the engines; how the door had creaked open and the end of his mattress had sunk under another man's weight; how Uncle had sat with him, still and silent, until he had finally drifted off to sleep.

"I'll be careful," he'd said. But Uncle had looked drawn and worried as Ping sped their team away from the camp. And now, crouched in this too-small watchtower with his comrades beside him, he understood a little of how Uncle must have felt. He knew how foolish he'd often been, gambling his life unthinkingly and rushing forward without a care for the consequences.

Today he knew exactly what he was doing, and exactly what was yet to come. He had the time to think how easy it would be to lose these people, how a stray arrow or a lucky spear could take any of them from him, and how helpless he might be to stop it. He felt his chi draining away, the strength leaving his hands as the sun disappeared, and was afraid.

The sun had shrunk to a crescent, now, the cloudless sky darkening to the deeper blue of evening. Zuko held out a hand, palm up, and concentrated. A flicker appeared a few inches from his skin, barely more than smoke.

"It's time," he said quietly.

Jet looked up from the map on the floor. "The sun's not gone yet," he said.

"We're all worried eight minutes won't be enough time," said Zuko. "The guards' Firebending is weak enough now for us to get past them. By the time we reach the palace they won't be able to bend at all."

"You're certain?" Ping asked.

Zuko closed his hand into a fist. "Yes."

Ping stood and walked between them to the window, his eyes on the guards and the wall behind them. "Ready?"

"Yes," they all said in quiet unison — except for Longshot, who only frowned and nodded.

They watched as Ping set one foot on the window ledge, arms braced on either side of the frame as he judged the distance to the ground. Then he pushed off, hard, and landed midway between the guardhouse and the wall, the ground sinking beneath him and then rebounding, driving him forward on a wave of rock toward the closest pair of guards. Zuko leapt down after him, rolled through the impact and was on his feet again in time to see Ping send the second guard flying. Jet was beside him, swords in hand, and he could hear the others running behind. He could also hear the shouts of the guards as they abandoned their posts and came charging toward the fight. They carried spears that Zuko somehow hadn't seen before.

But Zuko barely had the chance to be surprised before more immediate concerns pushed it aside. Ping swung his arms forward, fingers splayed, then jerked them backwards as his hands snapped into fists. Two great blocks of stone tore free of the wall, rumbling toward Ping and then pushed to either side, his palms flat and perpendicular to the ground. The guards were swept off their feet, and before they could recover Ping ripped a slab of marble from the top of the hole he'd made, large enough for six people to stand on. He leapt up onto it as soon as it landed, Zuko and Jet and the others close behind. Xiao Si Wang was in the rear, slicing through the shafts of spears thrown after them, and once both her feet were on the sledge Ping rocketed them forward, through the gap in the wall and into the compound beyond.

"What the hell was that?" Jet asked as they sped past the servant's quarters, empty and abandoned. He had to shout to be heard over the grinding of stone.

"They hid their weapons in the dirt," said Bee.

"_Shit_! Did they-"

"Archers," said Wang, her swords held ready and her feet planted wide. The buildings here were only one story, and as Zuko looked up he saw the outlines of men against the darkening sky. He couldn't hear the twang of bowstrings over all the noise, but he saw an arm drawn back, and his blades flashed in what remained of the sunlight as he knocked the first arrow out of the air. Beside him, Longshot pulled one from his quiver; notched, drew and shot it in one continuous motion. It found its mark, and a man clutched his shoulder and fell out of sight as Longshot reached for the next.

The barrage came thick and fast, its deflection made harder by the movement of the sledge and how close together they stood. Zuko tried to keep his elbows tucked in and his cuts short and precise, just enough to turn the arrows away from himself and from Ping. Even so, his elbow caught Wang in the ribs and one blade nearly tangled with Jet's, the hilt grazing the back of Ping's neck.

An arrow slipped between Zuko's swords and struck the leather armor on his shoulder. The angle was lucky and the tip cut a shallow path through his skin, but the shaft stuck straight out, in the way and jostling painfully as he knocked the next volley aside.

"Corner!" Ping shouted, and Zuko braced himself as the sledge careened around the royal stables, weaving between troughs and paddocks. Ahead, the wall to the inner courtyard loomed, a line of soldiers with pikes standing ready before it.

Zuko took both swords in one hand and tore the arrow from his shoulder as he turned another away from Ping's back. Then they were at the wall, and the sledge shook more violently as it rumbled forward, Ping's attention divided between the stone ahead and the stone below. Ping jerked his hands upward and a section of wall flew into the air, the muscles on his forearms standing out as he guided it in a high arc over their heads. He released it once it was clear, his focus shifting forward again, and the sudden jerk of acceleration nearly threw Wang off her feet. Zuko caught her arm, held it until she'd found her stance again, and only then looked to see what lay ahead.

He couldn't be certain how many men stood between them and the palace. This close to the ground, they looked like a wall of spears and red armor. There had to be hundreds of them. A thousand. They stood between the high, narrow columns, their formation as wide as the palace steps. There were archers atop the columns themselves, on the edge of the palace roof, at the head of the stairs.

"Hold on," Ping rumbled. Zuko flung one arm around Jet's shoulders, crouched down and hooked the other through Ping's leg, Smellerbee and Longshot doing the same on the other side of the sledge. Only Wang remained standing, her ankle tucked into the crook of Zuko's knee to keep herself steady as she cut spears and arrows from the air.

Zuko felt Ping tense and caught a glimpse of his hands reaching down toward the paving stones as they flew by. Then the sledge bucked beneath them as Ping dragged a crude hood of stone over their heads, angled so that their platform became a wedge. A moment later, Zuko felt another jar of impact, and saw the first line of soldiers left in upended heaps behind them.

The path they cut was narrow and their rear was still exposed. Wang's twin swords were a blur, the arrows thick and fast and uninterrupted. Jet and Zuko braced themselves against the new stone behind them, catching what she missed, but the sledge was even more cramped than before, and with the sky as dark as twilight, now, their targets were harder and harder to follow.

Zuko couldn't see the sun anymore, but he could feel it disappear, his insides turned to ice and his chi completely still. "It's started," he said, and in his mind the candle clock was lit, eight minutes notched into its side.

Their sledge pushed through the ocean of soldiers like a ship through the frozen sea, shattering their formation, but even those who fell were soon back on their feet again and ran with their spears in Ping's wake. Longshot stood beside Wang, Smellerbee's arms wrapped around his legs to hold him steady, and picked off the men who came too close. For every spear Wang blocked, a handful of arrows slipped through her blades, more than Jet and Zuko could manage even if they weren't careening across a dim courtyard. Flecks of stone hit Zuko's cheek from the impacts of near-misses, and the sledge trembled as a shaft dug into Ping's calf

"Can't do this in the palace," Ping grunted. "Be on foot."

Jet pulled the arrow out, and Zuko knocked another away from Ping's head in the moment of distraction. "We'll never get through," said Zuko. "Too many of them, we can't-"

"The roof," said Jet as they shot across the narrow moat, the rumble quieting for the instant they were in the air.

"Stairs first," said Ping, and they all braced themselves as the sledge tilted, a wave of stone pushing them up the wide, steep incline. Zuko glimpsed the army behind them in the gaps between his friends, a churning sea of men that bristled with iron points as it surged after them.

"That's gotta be most of the non-bending Fire Nation in the city," said Smellerbee, her surprise obvious even with her voice raised.

"Going up," Ping barked, and they all crouched, ready to spring. He stomped one foot, the impact driving a column of stone up out of the ground, hurling them past the massive columns and the elaborate portico.

Zuko leapt off the sledge at its zenith, the wind whistling past his ears, and hit the roof feet-first with a sharp crack of breaking tiles. Jet landed just beside him, hooks catching hold of the ridge ahead, and Wang grabbed his shirt as she scrambled for balance on the slope. Up ahead, Ping ran along the terra cotta as if there were no incline at all, his bare feet sure and solid. He swept his arms in a wide arc, ripping a path through the tiles, then swung the cloud of clay shards above his head before dragging it across the line of archers on the ridge. They shouted in alarm and slid away down the side of the roof, but Zuko didn't wait to see if they went over the edge. He was already past where they'd stood, jumping over the eves to the next tier, knowing that in the first instant of exposure he could find himself with a chest full of arrows. But the next volley was badly timed, and he knocked it easily aside as he skirted around the gable to the next long stretch before the main bulk of the palace.

The closest archers threw their bows away to draw short swords and rushed in to block the way forward. Zuko saw Jet's hooks flash in his peripheral vision, glanced over and saw those swords pulled out of the soldiers' hands and thrown to the ground far below, the men shouldered aside once they'd been disarmed. Zuko caught a thrust between his own blades, pushed it down and away and kicked his attacker in the chest, the man's arms pinwheeling as he tried to find his feet again.

On the next tier, still a hundred yards away, another line of bowmen took aim. Longshot felled them one at a time, notching and firing as he ran, but there were too many, and their arrows came thicker and faster as the gap between them and the Freedom Fighters closed. Zuko heard an angry shout of pain behind him, and when he glanced back over his shoulder in a lull between volleys, he saw that Smellerbee had a fresh gash along one cheek.

Just ahead, Ping spread his arms to either side, palms cupped. Soon the air was full of dust and the sound of breaking ceramic as parallel swaths of tile were torn loose, swirled into red-brown snakes that trailed behind his hands. Then Ping brought his arms sharply forward, the streams of tile lashing around, whip-like, to knock the archers' feet from under them, reminding Zuko more of Waterbenders than any Dai Li he'd ever seen.

The multi-tiered heart of the palace loomed ahead of them, and soon all Zuko could see was the green plaster of the outer walls and the undersides of overhanging eves. He tried to remember Xue Sheng's careful maps, the route he'd painstakingly memorized, but up here he'd lost all sense of where they were or even how much farther they had to go. He followed Ping blindly, along the perimeter of the central tower and past the sheltered gardens of the Earth King, a maze of gabled rooftops stretching out ahead of them.

Jet ran with swords held out to keep his balance, as close to Zuko as their reach would allow. "You okay?" he asked between breaths raw from exertion.

"I'll be fine," Zuko panted. He could feel the cold settling deeper into his chest, but now he took some comfort in it. They had enough time, he was certain. There was only so much farther it could be. "It's just…weird."

Jet veered toward him for a moment, slapping him on the shoulders with one fist clenched around a hilt. "Don't worry," he said. "Just like old times, right? Nothing you can't do." He grinned, warm and easy despite the chaos before and behind them, and Zuko felt the chill retreat a little.

"There," Ping shouted, and though he didn't point there was no doubt what he meant. Ahead, a circular ridge jutted up from the rooftop, at least twenty yards wide and made of iron. As they ran closer, Zuko could see it was an enormous window, strips of lead holding thousands of discs of green glass in place. He had never seen anything like it before, and he understood why Ping hesitated beside it for a long moment, as if reluctant to disturb something so beautiful.

Then Ping clenched his jaw and his arms swung around, cords of muscle taut in his neck as he bent a river of tiles up into the air, arcing high above their heads before slamming down on the center of the window. The leaded glass gave way, the torrent of shards pouring through it and hitting the floor far below them with a crash that Zuko could feel through his feet. Then came the startled shouts of soldiers, and Ping said, "Head for the back of the room," before jumping through the hole he'd torn. Zuko could see the curved bulk of the Earth King's throne, the dais and the polished marble floor on which rows of armored men stood, their formation disturbed by the scramble to avoid the flood of clay and glass Ping had rained down on them. Ping's landing sent a ripple of raised stone across the floor, sweeping the soldiers off their feet and out of Zuko's sight.

It was as much of a opening as they were going to get, but even the throne was much too far of a jump without bending, and Zuko's hands shook a little from pent-up momentum as he waited for Ping to raise a platform for them. Jet leaned in past the twisted remains of the window, lips pursed as he took in the details of the room and Ping's efforts to clear it. Then he spotted the gauzy hangings draped between the rim of the skylight and the columns beside the throne, and a grin spread across his face.

"Bee, Wang — you go first," he said, gesturing with his sword as he stood aside for them. "The rest of us might be too heavy."

The girls reached down, took handfuls of fabric and started to lower themselves toward the floor, one arms-length at a time as if the hangings were a ladder. Longshot watched their progress for a few seconds, frowning slightly beneath his eclipse glasses, then hooked his bow over his shoulders and reached for the second hanging. It held, though Zuko could see small tears around the bolts that anchored it. There was a third section of drapery, but he and Jet would have to go one at a time.

"Go on," said Jet.

"I'll follow you," said Zuko.

Jet blew out an impatient breath. "We don't have time for-"

"I'm not leaving you behind me," said Zuko, quiet but severe. He must have sounded as unshakable as he felt, because Jet didn't protest again. He nodded as he hooked his swords onto his belt, and Zuko watched him lower himself past the sharp wreckage of lead and glass and onto the green hangings below. His movements were effortless, reminding Zuko of how the other boy had grown up, coming of age in the branches of trees. They were five or six stories up, at least, but Jet seemed to barely notice.

Zuko noticed, but there wasn't time for him to worry about it now. Longshot was the first to get clear of his hanging, and as Zuko started down it he could feel the small changes in tension as it tore under his weight, each rip bringing him a little closer to having his bones shattered by the floor. Sounds of battle rose from beneath him, Earthbending and the clash of swords, but he kept his eyes on the column up ahead. Then his hand finally touched the cool marble, wide enough to be awkward to hold onto but not so much that he couldn't manage, and in the few seconds it took to slide down to the ground he took in the scene around him.

Ping was in front of the throne, a half-circle of granite carved to resemble a badgermole. The chamber's massive bronze doors had been thrown open, and in addition to the men already inside a hundred more soldiers, at least, were trying to push their way in from the hall, spear-tips glittering in the eerie green lantern light. Ping raised walls out of the floor and sent them rumbling toward the doorway, men falling before it and swept back the way they came. But there were soldiers too far inside the room to be dealt with in this way, closing in from the sides, and though Ping's arms flashed through bending forms, throwing jagged waves of stone in all directions, Zuko could tell he wouldn't be able to hold his position for long.

Zuko jumped the last ten feet, tore the now-useless eclipse glasses from his face and launched himself into a sprint. He could see Jet and the others up ahead of him, the back of the room all but lost in shadow. He heard Ping break off his defense behind them, and a moment later the Earthbender sped past him on a rolling crest of floor, crouched low as velocity whipped his robes around his legs and arms.

The dark outline of a much-smaller doorway came into focus. Ping stopped a few yards short of it, whirled around and dragged high barriers of stone up toward the ceiling, forming a crescent that butted up against the rear wall. He left a gap a few feet wide, just enough for the rest of them to dart through. Zuko could hear the soldiers running behind him, gaining ground on his own exhausted stride. He grit his teeth and forced one last burst of speed, dove through the gap and heard Ping close it behind him, plunging their makeshift enclosure into even deeper darkness.

Zuko reached down into his tunic and pulled out the glowing green crystal that hung around his neck. The others did the same, standing around the door so that Ping had enough light to see by as he examined it. They were breathing hard, and the shadows moved with the rise and fall of their chests.

Ping had told them of a metal bunker in the rear of the throne room, meant to protect the Earth King in case of an assault on the palace. They'd all assumed that Zha would lock himself inside the moment he realized his Firebending was gone. But Ping had never seen the interior of the chamber, nor come particularly close to it — he had only entered the throne room two or three times in his entire life. Now he ran his hands along the iron door, over rivets that formed patterns of squares within circles, and frowned. "Locked from the inside," he said. He banged it with his knuckles, listening carefully to the sound. "At least six inches thick. Mostly solid."

"Can you get through?" asked Jet.

"Eventually."

Another bang came from behind them, and Ping looked up sharply from the door. "They've found something to ram the wall with," he said. He brought one foot down hard on the floor, drove the heels of his palms out and up to raise another barricade behind the first. Then he turned back to the door and pushed his arms out to either side, parting the wall to reveal the solid iron beneath. "We'll have to break it down," he said. This close, Zuko could see how exhausted he was, face dripping with sweat and hands shaking as they wiped it away. But their work was far from over, and Ping barely allowed himself a moment to catch his breath before he sunk into another stance.

Two stomps in quick succession flipped a section of marble flooring out of the way and lifted a chunk of the granite beneath to shoulder height. Then Ping dug his heels down into the floor, grit his teeth as he compressed the stone to even greater density between his hands, then flung it against the gap between door and wall. The stone cracked in half on impact, but Ping reformed it as he pulled back for another strike. He did this over and over again, the noise ringing in Zuko's ears. All of their eyes were fixed on the spot that Ping had chosen, now covered in dusty marks. The stone shattered and coalesced, broken then whole, but the iron distorted with agonizing slowness. It had been built to keep out Earth and Fire armies alike.

Their little half-circle of space was hot and deafening, stone against iron inside and the Fire Nation's battering ram beyond the makeshift wall. Zuko looked between the faces of his friends, eerie green and lit from underneath. Longshot and Smellerbee were grim and serious, watching the wall as the first, small cracks appeared. Xiao Si Wang was very pale, hands gripping the hilts of her swords, and though she kept her face blank Zuko could see the anxious fear in her eyes and in the pulse that fluttered on her throat.

He felt Jet's hand on his back; looked up into a face pinched with worry, the high arches of his brows drawn together. "How much longer?" Jet asked, quiet in the pause between bangs.

Zuko closed his eyes and tried to make sense of what his body was telling him, sifting through the tangle of distractions. His heart pounded from worry and exercise, and so much of him felt like it was on fire: his lungs, the aching muscles of his limbs, the gash in his shoulder. But underneath all of it, behind his navel, was the flickering birth of a different sort of warmth. The candle had burned to its last notch.

"Soon," he said. He opened his eyes and looked up into Jet's. "We're not going to make it."

oOoOo


	11. Cinematic, Razor Sharp

oOoOo

Zuko could do nothing but stand and watch, Jet's hand flat on his shoulder blade and his useless swords sheathed at his hip. Ping battered the iron door, pausing in his rhythm only to seal cracks in their defenses when they appeared, and Zuko felt sick with guilt and helplessness. He couldn't stop the soldiers from trying to break down the walls Ping had made. He couldn't force his way into this bunker, not before the flame was rekindled in General Zha's stomach, along with whoever else stood with him. Zuko watched as the gap between door and wall grew, steadily but much too slowly. And as he waited for the fire to flow back into his fingers, the fragmented shards of battle began to drift together, aligning into a pattern he did not want to see. But once noticed, it couldn't be ignored, the meaning of all that had happened as plain as written characters, stark and unambiguous.

Zha had surrounded this stronghold with half the non-benders in the city, a human wall of spearman and archers with no purpose but his defense, whose sole advantage lay in greater numbers. There was only one explanation for why a Fire Nation general would entrust his safety to such inferior forces, instead of the elite of his Firebending officers.

"He knew about the eclipse," said Zuko in the ringing pauses between impacts. "He knew he wouldn't be able to bend."

"Who?" Jet asked. "Zha?"

"He's in that room with his best Firebenders. All those men, everything we've fought through…it was only there to slow us down. He wanted to make sure we wouldn't have time to break through this door before the eclipse was over." Zuko's hands clenched into painful fists, fingernails cutting his palms. "All of that, just to save his own skin."

Zuko's body shook with a rage that had no outlet. He wanted to roar, to spit a column of furious heat toward the door that blocked his way, but all that passed his lips was a gray wisp of smoke. He glared up at the ceiling and the sky beyond, as if he could burn the shadow from the sun.

Then Jet turned Zuko toward him, hands squeezing his shoulders hard enough to be felt through the leather armor. "How many?" he asked.

"As many as he could fit. At least five, maybe more." Zuko shook his head. "The rest are probably dead. He probably didn't tell any of them. They just stood there while their bending disappeared, and then-"

"Zuko," said Jet, quiet and sharp as his grip tightened. "Breathe. You're no good to me like this. I need you to concentrate on what's waiting for us in that room and how we're gonna handle it."

Zuko grit his teeth and focused on Jet's face, dark and angular in the eerie green light. He swallowed through the tension in his throat, reached up to touch Jet's cheek and felt the warm, soft skin beneath his fingers; took a deep breath of Jet's scent, sweat and oiled armor and the lingering traces of smoke.

"They'll go after me and Ping," he said. "They won't see you as a threat compared to us." He looked past Jet, then — at the others as they waited in the dark, three points of glowing crystal and their faces above. Faces that Zha and his men would ignore, rabble whose chi wasn't powerful enough to be anything more than a distraction. He knew, because he had once felt that way himself, dismissing all contrary evidence as a sign of his own weakness — a fault of his, not a strength of theirs.

Smellerbee and Longshot. Jet and Xiao Si Wang. Zuko had seen their strength, in battle and in the time between. He understood what Zha and all the men like him did not. He felt his chi begin to flow again, the heat of it stirring in his veins, and knew it was no better or worse than the strength of sword or bow or word — only different. He leaned in for a kiss, brief but necessary; allowed Jet to pull their chests together, savored the familiar solidity while he could and then stepped back to turn to face the door. "I'll draw their fire," he said. "They won't even see you coming."

The candle clock guttered. And what had drained away eight minutes before returned in a dizzying flood, pouring back into him like water through chinks in a dam. The air around his hands shimmered with heat, and he said "Stand back" as he lifted them. The hunk of granite fell to the ground with a loud crack as Ping moved aside, breathing hard and shining with perspiration.

He could feel the slight weight of Jet's touch at the small of his back, behind the place where his inner fire was boiling to life once again. It sang through his veins and down the lengths of his arms, twin rivers that burst from his palms in a white-hot fountain and broke against the door. The iron hinges began to glow, deep red to orange to yellow, but even as waves of heat baked the skin of Zuko's face, the touch at his back didn't waver. He imagined the currents of their chi connecting, a stream that flowed from Jet's fingertips and into the knot below his navel. Jet's strength became his own, too much for any door to withstand.

"Now," barked Zuko, and Ping needed no further explanation. The granite lifted into the air once again, stretched into a wedge by one movement of his fingers and jammed into the gap between wall and door with the next. Ping set his jaw, pushed forward with splayed hands to fill the space completely and then crouched down with both fists raised in front of him. The assault on their defenses continued, but between collisions Zuko could hear Ping's low, labored growl as he pulled his fists apart, white-hot iron buckling as the stone expanded.

"Ping and I go first," said Zuko as Ping ripped more granite from the floor, shoved it in place and hunkered down for the next big push. He looked at Wang and Longshot and Smellerbee and finally Jet in turn, pausing at each to wait for an answering nod. "We'll clear a path for you."

"Almost," Ping grunted. Zuko sank into a ready stance, hands up and feet set. He heard the metallic slide of drawn blades and the creak of Longshot's bowstring. "There," Ping snarled, his arms pistoning out to either side, and the door was finally torn free.

Zuko's foot was on it almost before it hit the marble floor. For an instant he could feel the hot metal through his boot, but then he was over and past it and the heat came from up ahead, a wall of fire that roared toward him in this tight box of a room. Zuko brought his palms together and dived through it, the flames a liquid that splashed against the walls to either side of him, his friends safe in his wake. His vision swimming with dark afterimages, Zuko glimpsed the outlines of armored men — six he thought, maybe seven — and as the next wave coalesced before their fists Ping swept around and past him, hands sheathed in rock and a wave of rubble dragged across the iron floor behind him. Ping crouched beneath a wild arc of flame, and with a quick jerk of his arms two Firebenders were knocked off their feet and against the wall, the impact of their skulls against the metal sickening to hear. But the third was faster, one fireball shattering Ping's attack and the next driving him back toward the door again, a hasty shield of rock brought up to protect his face.

These men were not foot soldiers. They were elite, any one of them a challenge on his own. Together, they were almost too much for Zuko to track, asynchronous balls of flame coming from all directions with no time to recover in between. Offense was out of the question. He could barely see, an already too-hot room growing warmer with every attack, making his head spin and his breath dry and shallow.

He extended his arms, reached out with his spirit and felt the flames around him. The fire wasn't his, had been conjured by other hands and directed by other minds, but once it left their fingers and palms and the soles of their feet it belonged to the world. It became part of the room around him, and as he reached out he found he could take hold of it. Wrenching it out of their grasp was too much — they sensed what he was after, dug their heels in and pushed back. He couldn't own the fire, but he could influence it. He could calm the burning air. He could redirect the currents, pull them toward himself and then past, away from his skin and Ping's as well. He was a swirling eddy. He was a rock in the stream.

When the others slipped into the room they did so as shadows, pendants tucked back into their clothes and footsteps masked by the roar of Firebending and the thundering impacts of stone. He chanced a closer look in the glow of the next attack, red light catching on blades and arrowheads in the moment it took him to shift the flames into the wall. He ducked and ran to the center of the room, dropped to the ground and whirled his legs to kick up flashy banks of fire. _Look at me,_ he thought, flipping back onto his feet again to dodge a fireball aimed at his head. For a moment Ping was beside him, a ring of stone whirled around his torso and shot out at eye level, enough to get the attention of every bender in the room; to draw their eyes and their ire toward him. _We're who you want,_ he thought as Ping was sent flying, shards of his blasted defenses stinging Zuko's cheek.

Zuko couldn't see Jet or the others anymore, so he played it safe and bent the next wave straight up, into the ceiling where it couldn't hurt anyone. It burst in a shower of sparks as a stone fist whistled past his ear, shattering against the chest of a Firebender who couldn't dodge quite fast enough. Older, Zuko now saw, his armor shining with gilt scrollwork and dragons. He grunted but didn't go down, and flame licked at his fingers as he brought his arms around.

Zuko caught that first assault like he would a ball, gathering it up in his hands and bending it into a dense sphere that scorched his palms before he cast it aside. But in that sliver of time the other man surged forward, snarling as fire leapt from his palm and poured from his mouth, too close to dodge and too much to contain.

Then a dark silhouette moved between them, hardly more than a blur and a flash of metal, and the attack went wild as the Firebender's wrist was jerked violently to one side. The man — who Zuko was now certain had to be Zha — stumbled in his surprise, but the imbalance was short-lived. He wrenched himself free of the hook that had caught him, already bringing his other arm around with a corona of hot light around his fist. Zuko glimpsed Jet's angular profile, his white teeth and wide grin, and then he'd dropped below the path of Zha's fire and Zuko was reaching out toward it, wresting the flame from Zha's control.

Zuko had a vague awareness of the rest of the room, the other bodies twisting around each other and the staccato bursts of heat and light. Unfamiliar screams were a grim but deep satisfaction; a startled shout of pain in Xiao Si Wang's high voice was something to be endured, a reason to fight harder and faster and better so he could get her out of this place. He heard a grunt that may have been Smellerbee, the whistle of arrows and loud cries when they found their mark, bones cracking and armored men hitting the iron floor.

All of this was on the fringes of his perception. But the heart of it was here in front of him: his partner in all things, lithe and quick and always moving, and the man they had come here to subdue. Zha was slow with age and his much greater size, but Zuko could feel the crackling power of his chi, the heat of flame that burned white and long and tirelessly. He could smell his own hair burning as he channeled that river of fire, his body a levee against the flood. And he could see Jet, melting from shadow to stark contrast and back again, his blades flickering out to snatch at wrists and ankles and his leg sweeping around to knock Zha's out from under him.

But Zha was a true son of the Fire Nation, a Firebender in all the expected ways. To him, Jet was the distraction, swatted at halfheartedly between more serious assaults. When Jet's foot connected with his stomach, Zha grunted in annoyance as he stumbled and tossed a handful of careless fire back at him. Jet dodged it without trouble, but Zha's eyes had already returned to Zuko. He snarled, "Fight me, you coward!" and the words became flame in the air. Zuko moved a handbreadth to one side — no need to even bend so careless an attack — and Jet flew into the void between them with a bark of adrenaline laughter.

Zuko saw the crescent of Jet's hilt thrust forward; braced himself for the hot splash of liquid across his face and the gurgle of air escaping torn flesh. But Jet's knuckles were what connected, knocking Zha's head back with a loud click of teeth, and as he reeled from it Jet dropped back into a crouch. One booted foot shot out, and with a wet crunch Zha's knee bent in a way it wasn't meant to, Zha screaming as he dropped to the ground and curled in tight around it.

Jet hauled him up by his hair, pulled his head as far back as it would go and pressed one lethal crescent to his neck. "Gimme some light," he said quietly. Zuko held out his hand, palm-up, and conjured a little whorl of flame, incongruously cheerful in this place. Zha's face shone with sweat, features screwed up with pain and anger.

In the new and steady glow, Zuko could see the rest of the hot, metal room. Xiao Si Wang had wedged herself into a corner, one arm cradled against her chest. Three bodies lay prone on the ground, limbs splayed at unnatural angles and one hand crushed and bloody. Three more surrounded Ping, Smellerbee dancing between them and Longshot taking careful aim from near the wall. As Zuko watched, an arrow caught one Firebender in the shoulder, sliding neatly between the armored plates and deep into his joint.

"Surrender now or I cut his throat," said Jet, loud but calm and wholly straightforward. The soldiers faltered, glancing between each other and Zha's prone body, and in the lull Zha choked out some wordless growl of protest. Jet pulled his head even farther back, leaning in close to murmur, "Zuko here wants you alive. But give me one fucking reason and I'll take it."

"Zuko?" Zha's eyes rolled up toward Zuko's face, widening as they settled on his scar. "The princess told me you were dead."

"That's another thing she's wrong about," said Zuko. Then, to Ping, "Get them all in cuffs. We'll have to carry him," he added with a nod toward Zha.

"_Prince_ Zuko," said Zha, strangled and indignant. "Dressed like a barbarian and fighting your own father's army."

Zuko watched Ping move between the other Firebenders, those standing first and then the ones on the floor, stone flowing from his forearms to twist around their wrists like chain. "I don't want anything to do with that uniform as long as men like you wear it," he said.

"_Treason,_" Zha spat. "Have you no honor at all?"

Zuko looked at Zha and thought of all the things that he could say. _You're a general with no respect for his soldiers. You're a Firebender with no respect for your people. You're a man with no respect for the world. You don't know what honor is._ But he knew Zha wasn't worth the breath it would take to say those things. That he wouldn't hear them, besides.

Then Ping was beside him, and Jet moved a little — his grip on Zha's hair as tight as ever — so Ping could do his work. "We'll have to tunnel down into the catacombs," Ping said as he fastened Zha's arms and ankles together, paying no mind at all to the crippled knee and eliciting a small whimper of pain. "But it will take some time. I'll need to tend to this first." He gestured to the place where the arrow had hit him before, and Zuko gave the flame in his palm a little push, brightening the light it cast. A dark red stain had soaked through the cloth on Ping's leg, covering most of his thigh.

Longshot had already torn a length of fabric from his shirt, and knelt to bind Ping's wound as Zuko went to check on Xiao Si Wang. She had pushed herself to her feet, using the wall for support, and was examining the damage to her arm as Zuko and his light approached. Armor had protected her forearm, which she'd removed and dropped to the floor, but an angry red burn stretched from her elbow to just above her bicep, wet and blistered and raw.

"Does it hurt?" Zuko asked softly. She nodded, her bottom lip between her teeth. "Good. That means it'll heal. But you'll probably have a scar."

"At least it's not on my face," said Wang, wearily pragmatic, and Zuko surprised them both by laughing.

"We need to get a bandage on it, though," he said. "So let's-"

"Quiet," said Ping, sudden and severe. Zuko shut his mouth and watched as Ping straightened and looked toward the door. He realized, then, that he could no longer hear the impact of a battering ram on the wall Ping had made. It had stopped at some point during the battle, when he had been too distracted to notice.

He lacked Ping's sensitivity, but the next sound was unmistakable — a rumble of Earthbending, just outside the room.

"Dai Li," Jet muttered.

"There's only one door," said Ping, quiet and grim, fragments of stone lifting up from the floor to cover his hands and forearms again. "I'll try to draw them away, but you'll have to-"

A young, clear voice cut through his words, echoing off the walls. "Captain Ping! Do you require assistance?"

Ping's arms dropped a fraction. "To whom am I speaking?" he asked, with an authority that made it sound more like an order than a question.

Zuko moved a few, silent steps toward the center of the room, and saw that a rectangular window had been opened in Ping's barricade. "This is Captain Chen of the sixth division," the voice continued. "Do you require assistance?"

Ping looked at Jet, who shifted his grip from hair to armored collar and nodded. "We've captured General Zha and his guard," said Ping, his voice still perfectly calm. "The bunker is ours."

The barricade sunk back into the floor. The doorway was too narrow to afford much of a view, but Zuko could see that a line of Dai Li had formed just outside of it, so close to one another that their shoulders nearly touched. The one in the center, whom Zuko assumed to be Chen, gestured to the others and stepped forward into the room.

To the Dai Li, Chen said, "Tend to the wounded. Secure the prisoners." Then he scanned the faces of those who were still standing, settling finally on Jet's. "Commander. Captain Quan-"

"What?" said Jet, almost a laugh.

"You're Commander Jet of the Freedom Fighters, yes?"

Jet's eyebrows shot up into his hair, and he glanced sideways at Zuko before replying. "Yeah, that's me."

"Captain Quan is waiting for you at the main entrance of the palace. We have secured the throne room, and will escort your men and your prisoner there to meet him."

"Secured?" said Smellerbee.

Wang had left the wall behind to stand next to Zuko again. Now she leaned in to whisper, "What's going on?" She had listened to all of Ping's curt, haunted stories about the Dai Li and what they did to their prisoners, and her eyes were wide with alarm.

"It's all right," said Zuko, his gaze shifting back to Jet. The other boy was already watching him. Jet frowned, eyes indicating the doorway and a quirk of one eyebrow asking a question. Zuko nodded, and the other boy fell in beside him as he stepped over the broken door and out into the throne room.

It took Zuko a moment to absorb what he saw. Sunlight spilled through what had been the skylight, the hangings jewel green where it hit them and the throne itself glittering with shards of broken glass. The floor was a mess of buckled marble, waves and walls of stone abandoned in odd places — an offense frozen in time. But there was a clear, flat space at the center of the room with a Dai Li agent stationed at each corner, standing at attention as they waited for their next order. Between them were neat rows of battered Fire Nation soldiers, their heads bowed and their wrists cuffed behind their backs.

Zuko felt Jet take his hand, the filthy bandages rough against his palm, and laced their fingers together. For a few seconds, they stood beside each other and stared.

Zuko looked at Jet's face. Brown eyes darted between the men, his mouth very slightly open and his face slack. "I know what I want this to mean," he said quietly. He didn't say the rest, but Zuko understood. He felt the same way — like none of this could actually be happening; like it would fall apart at any moment, revealed as some cruel manipulation. The worst kind of joke at all of their expense.

The minutes that followed had the dream-like quality of a paradigm just shifted, Zuko's surroundings filtered through a haze of shock. Such a short time ago, they had run the whole length of the palace rooftops, a storm of arrows and walls of men between them and their goal. Now they walked along its cavernous hallways with Captain Chen ahead of them, carrying Zha over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Some corridors were lined with more Dai Li and ranks of captured soldiers, their battered armor incongruous beside marble panels and gilt molding. Chen set a gentle pace for the sake of Ping's leg, and the Fire Nation men had ample time to gawk at their broken general, who moaned in pain with each of Chen's footfalls.

They turned a final corner and a pair of massive bronze doors came into view. They had been hauled open, and Zuko could see a broad swath of pale summer sky, the palace walls and the courtyard and the porch of the entranceway all layered beneath, stripes of yellow and brown below the blue. A little closer, and dark smudges resolved themselves into men. Captain Quan stood just beyond the doorway, a steady stream of lesser Dai Li running up to consult with him, then darting off just as quickly to carry out whatever orders he'd given.

A few yards further, and Zuko could see that the courtyard was filled with soldiers, the Dai Li among them distinguished by their broad, flat helmets. Just as it had been in the throne room, but on a massive scale. Looking at them now from this height and distance, a thousand human shapes in ragged formation, he would not have believed so many men could be pushed through had he not done it himself.

Then he and Jet and Ping were standing in a line, their friends behind them as they faced the Dai Li and the first among their captains. Chen took his place beside Quan's elbow, and at the bottom of the wide, stone steps, an army watched as their general was roughly lowered to the ground. Zuko wondered how many of them could hear Zha's cry of pain, or could tell when he finally passed out from it, limp and defeated at the feet of his captors.

For several seconds, Jet looked between the stern faces before him, lips pursed in consideration. His eyes on Quan, he dug his fingers into the space beneath one arm guard, rooting around for a moment before producing a battered stalk of grass gone to seed. Zuko couldn't help but chuckle as Jet made a show of dusting it off, straightening imaginary kinks and then placing it carefully in the corner of his mouth.

"So," Jet drawled, informal and unhurried. "Nice of you guys to show up."

"We reconsidered our stance," said Quan.

Jet arched his eyebrows. "You mean you pried your heads out of your asses and did the right fucking thing for once," he said amiably.

Quan scowled. "Characterize it that way if it pleases you. It makes no difference to me."

"Sure," said Jet with a little shrug of his shoulders. "So. Business, right? That's why you called us out here." He nudged Zha's body with one foot. "We don't have room for prisoners and I hate keeping them besides. If you want this piece of shit, he's yours. My only condition is that you keep him here in the city. No trading him back to Ozai; I don't care what he promises."

"I can accept those terms," Quan rumbled. "But I have a request of my own."

"Yeah?"

Quan squared his shoulders, and when he spoke again his voice was raised to a volume meant to carry. "Commander Jet. On the behalf of the people of Ba Sing Se, I ask that you return control of this city to the Dai Li. We have been its guardians for centuries. We wish to reclaim that role."

Jet chuckled, to the obvious surprise and irritation of Quan and his men. "You know…I think I'm gonna have to turn you down, friend," he said, just as loud. "Sorry. We'll hold the city until the Earth King returns and the government's been put back together. You helped us, so I'll trust you with our prisoner. But you sold us to Ozai one time already, and you've got a long fucking way to go before I give you that chance again." He flashed a smile, white and a little dangerous. "But you're right, this isn't my city. So."

Jet turned to Ping, the grin softening into something more genuine. "As of right now, you're the leader of the Freedom Fighters." He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "But I kind of like being a commander, so that makes you, what? General Ping?"

Watching Ping's reaction now, his face uncharacteristically open in those first seconds of disbelief, Zuko felt a swell of affection for his friend. Ping had never asked for anything but a place to sleep and a chance to help restore his city. He had never disobeyed Jet's orders, however suicidal, and questioned them only in private when no one but Zuko would hear. He had fought alongside boys half his age, honed a team of Earthbenders from five strangers and answered every one of their questions. He had taught them to fight the only family he'd ever known and not once had he complained.

"Are you certain?" he asked.

Jet's smile somehow widened. "Yes."

"Then I accept."

They bowed deeply to one another, the first time Zuko had ever seen Jet do such a thing. Zuko looked to Quan, expecting anger or confusion. But the older man's lips were curved into the shadow of a smile. He bowed as well, his braided queue of gray hair slipping over his shoulder.

Zuko looked out at the courtyard and the countless rows of soldiers and wondered what they felt; what they saw as they watched this scene unfold. He hoped that a few, at least, felt the weight of it as he did, and that someday, the rest would understand.

oOoOo


	12. So Clear Now

oOoOo

Jet had not allowed himself to think in much detail about what would happen after the eclipse. He'd known that even if they won there was no way to tell how that victory would unfold, what state the city would be left in or who among his own men would live to see it; if his own little knot of soldiers could endure the long, hard push to the throne room and whatever waited for them within. He had crouched in that oven of a watchtower and squeezed Zuko's hand in his and memorized every detail of how it felt, each knuckle of Zuko's fingers and the delicate bones inside his palm. Jet had seen the worst of his fears in bright, sharp flashes: the features he knew so well crushed and bloodied, yellow eyes dim and breath still. "We'll make it," he'd said as he thought of spilt entrails and charred skin, his stomach heaving from the memory of their smell.

But they _had_ made it — had somehow all walked out of the palace under their own power and felt the sunlight on their faces again. The tension broken, Jet had wanted nothing more than to pull Zuko into some dark corner and sleep until the hawk arrived, but the momentum of immediate concerns had carried him through the first few hours, at least. Certain practicalities had had to be addressed and certain arrangements made, both exhaustion and the low whisper of dread that much easier to ignore as men and voices swirled around him.

Ping and Quan had argued the logistics of prisoners and where to send the wounded, the possibility of defectors to their cause and the nature of their temporary government. Jet had stood a few paces away from them at the head of the palace steps, only half-listening — he was a fighter, not a politician, and he had anxiously scanned the city skyline as he waited for the first reports from his men. Clouds of dust and blooms of flame had risen from between the rooftops, evidence of conflicts still unresolved, but even that had faded within half an hour.

When news finally arrived it had confirmed Jet's suspicions — without the Dai Li to back his forces, Zha's selfish gamble had cost him the city.

Ping had slid with outward ease into the sudden flush of new responsibilities, listening patiently to reports from the streets and dispatching men and messengers as they were needed. Quan suggested the servant's quarters on the east side of the palace compound as the best location for their new camp — the same buildings Jet had sped between only a short while ago — and word was sent out to the front lines. From this vantage point, Jet could just barely see the cluster of low, modest buildings, and soon enough smoke curled from their tiled roofs, cheerful evidence that dinner was underway.

Most of the Freedom Fighters were too hungry and tired to check in with Jet directly, but from time to time one of them would turn up at the palace steps — Dusty or Yan Jing — and end their report with an expectant look on their face, as if waiting for Jet to tell them what to do with themselves now. But Jet had only shaken his head and said, "Ask Ping," before sitting down on the palace steps with his arm around Zuko's shoulders, making jokes and ruffling the other boy's hair as they watched the incomprehensibly massive crowd of soldiers begin to recede. Neat formations of Fire Nation prisoners, stripped of spears and armor, had been escorted down into the catacombs below the city, dark tunnels in the courtyard winking closed again as smoothly as they'd been formed.

When Iroh's squat outline had appeared, ferried to the palace grounds by Pakku on a sledge of ice, Jet had laughed a little as Zuko launched himself down the steps and into his uncle's arms, the force of the impact knocking Iroh several feet backward. Jet had followed at a more sedate pace, to give them time to bask in the warmth of real family — something he only barely remembered himself, as exotic as white rice and houses on the ground. Another reminder of a world he had no place in.

Then Zuko and Iroh had parted and turned as one to grin at him, beckoning him over, and Jet's chest had ached with a confused mess of longing as Iroh wrapped both of them in a surprisingly strong embrace, tears on his cheeks and in his beard.

Three days had passed since that afternoon. Jet and Zuko had slept through most of the first, curled up together in what had been the chief attendant's bed. Ping had forbidden anyone from disturbing them, and they'd emerged only to take care of certain bodily needs and forage for meals. It wasn't _their_ room, not really, but it had come to feel like a stronghold — a little fortress of rest and privacy, where Jet could run his fingers along Zuko's spine as he dozed and try to forget about time for a while.

Zuko had stirred in his sleep, dusty shafts of afternoon sunlight falling across his face. And Jet had looked at the whorls and folds of his scar and known that he could never forget. That the world as it was wouldn't let him.

The second day had dragged them into the sunlight and the center of everyone's attention. Jin and Xue Sheng had cornered them with armfuls of brocade, explaining the need for certain appearances in a city accustomed to pomp and ceremony. A procession of soldiers, captured tanks and rhinos had wound its way through the streets, with Ping and Jet and Zuko at its head on the backs of ostrich horses, dressed in silks and ceremonial armor borrowed from the palace. Ping had bourn it with his usual stoicism, nodding curtly to the throng of admirers that lined each side of their route. Jet had hitched a smile onto his face — his only real job until they needed him to fight again — and kept it there by thinking about how Zuko had looked in bed that morning, tousle-haired and covered in bruises that had needed to be kissed in turn. But Zuko had seemed completely at ease, a little shy at being the center of attention but not particularly uncomfortable beneath so much formality.

And why would he be? Three years of exile were nothing against thirteen passed in the splendor of palace life. Jet had never worn silk cloth before that afternoon, but Zuko had probably been diapered with it. Whatever he'd done here in Ba Sing Se, he was still the Fire Lord's son.

Zuko had never really been his, however much the other boy may have wanted to be. They had shared a few months of providence, a burst of light and warmth that swelled and faded with the heat of summer. Jet wanted to bask in it; to lay in their borrowed bed and examine the contours of Zuko's body; to memorize each birthmark and scar, the topography of muscle and bone beneath pale skin, the soft dusting of hair on his stomach and limbs and the way his eyes caught the thin light of morning. Jet wanted to grow used to the taste of Zuko's name. He wanted to hear Zuko say his own in that quiet, rasping voice. He longed to enjoy these small intimacies for whatever remained of their time together

But inevitably, his thoughts drifted.

Even the fastest hawk would take three days to cross the distance between the Fire Nation capital and Ba Sing Se. Xue Sheng had explained this with the obvious expectation that Jet would be annoyed, and Jet could see his reasoning — Jet wasn't exactly known for being patient.

In truth, he'd felt nothing but an intense and selfish relief. Three weeks ago, the absence of a hawk had nearly killed him. But now, absurdly, a part of Jet hoped for this one to be lost as well — for this twilight to go on forever, the stress of not-knowing preferable to the hard realities they soon would have to face. Whether the news of the invasion was good or bad, the mere fact of it would pull apart the threads of this strange life they'd built here. Their little family was a delicate thing, held together by chance and circumstance and all their good intentions, but Jet wasn't so naive as to think that it could withstand whatever message the hawk would bring. Three days were all he had left. So he would do his best to savor them.

Yet by the morning of the third day, time was all he could think about — how quickly it was passing and how little of it they had. Zuko woke at sunrise, arched his back in a luxurious stretch and turned his head to kiss Jet's mouth, his hands already wandering down the bare skin of Jet's hips. His lips were soft and warm and unhurried, his weight relaxed and comfortable as he rolled on top of Jet's body. But Jet could feel the desperation in his own touch, fingers dimpling Zuko's flesh and mouths pressed together with bruising force. He tried to drown his thoughts in sex, but they seared through the haze of pleasure, steadily wearing through his ability to stay calm. Was this the last time? The second-to-last? How quickly would the departures come? Would they ever share a bed like this again?

Afterward, Jet clung to Zuko as the sounds and smells of breakfast drifted in from the courtyard, his face pressed so tightly to the other boy's chest that he almost couldn't breathe. He didn't want to get out of bed or put on clothes or address the rumble of hunger in his stomach. He knew he must have slept at some point during the night, but what little he'd managed hadn't been restful. He had drifted in and out of consciousness, counting Zuko's slow breaths and trying to memorize his smell, trying to force his senses to absorb every detail of the body that slumbered beside him.

Now Zuko smiled and pushed the hair back from Jet's face, impossibly handsome in the thin shafts of yellow light that slipped through the blinds. "Hey," he murmured.

"Hey," said Jet, whispering in part to mask the tension in his voice.

Zuko kissed the corner of Jet's eye, then pushed himself up so he could peer out the window, the courtyard glimpsed in strips between wooden slats. His hand stayed on Jet's shoulder, the calluses of swordplay rough against Jet's skin. "I guess we should get out there," he said. "Everyone else is already up."

"Yeah," said Jet. "Sounds like."

Zuko leaned in to press another kiss to Jet's forehead, then disentangled himself from the sheets and walked over to where he'd stacked his neatly folded clothes. "Jin said she'd make a big breakfast today," he went on as he stepped into his pants. "The Dai Li turned up some great stuff when they were going through the palace. I guess Zha was hoarding it all for himself." He sighed happily as he tied on his belt. "I think she's making soup dumplings. I haven't had those in almost a year."

"Hmm," said Jet. He watched as Zuko pulled on his boots.

Zuko bent to collect Jet's clothes from where they'd been tossed the night before, mostly over the back of a chair and on the floor beside it. "And thousand layer cake," he said as he held them out, his tone one of sly temptation. "With dates. And real sugar."

Jet took the clothes and pulled them on carelessly, sneaking glances at Zuko from beneath his eyelashes. He knew that, if asked, Zuko would stay in this room for the rest of the day, no matter how the promise of food and friendship called to him. But Zuko was grinning at him, nakedly hopeful now that he thought he wasn't being watched, and the selfish impulse to get back into bed flickered and faded in Jet's heart. "Guess we better go before the kids eat it all," he said, his grin only a little strained as he slipped his arm around Zuko's waist.

The cluster of servants' quarters included an informal dining room of sorts, with long wooden tables not unlike the one they'd once clustered around in the Jasmine Dragon. But palace servants were needed at all times, and as such had taken their meals in small groups throughout the day, so the room was much too small to hold more than a fraction of the Freedom Fighters and their allies.

Ping and Zuko, both military men in their own way, saw no problem with the idea of eating in shifts. But Jin had been dead set against it, and Jet was inclined to agree with her. So much had changed in the past few days. Soon even this pocket of stability would be shaken apart, the family they'd built that summer pulled in all directions to meet the shifting needs of the cause that had once united them. Jet knew better than most how difficult it would be to part ways again -- to move on to a quieter, lonelier rhythm.

Someone had found the gleaming banquet tables used for palace functions, tucked away in a store room with dust cloths draped over them. They'd been hauled out into the courtyard, along with equally ornate benches and chairs and crates of royal china. Jet couldn't help smiling a little at the sight of dark, polished wood set on the dusty ground; and of his friends, most of them dressed in mismatched scraps oft-mended and stained with old blood, greedily slurping down broth and soup dumplings from gilt porcelain bowls.

"I was wondering if I'd see you this morning," said Jin with a wry smile as she ladled two more portions She looked between them through the steam that rose from her pot, and the smile faded somewhat when she met Jet's eyes. "Everything all right?"

"Fine," said Jet, reenforcing his own grin with a twinge of annoyance at himself. He didn't enjoy being transparent. "Any news?"

"Xiao Si Wang, Dusty and Ni Shui Jian went over to the Jasmine Dragon a little while ago, to see what..." She paused, took a breath and smiled harder. "Just in case there's anything they can save."

A moment of silent mourning, for their home and for the life they'd shared there. Then Zuko asked, "What about the hawk?"

Jet concentrated on making sure his brow was smooth, his eyes wide and interested, the corners of his mouth turned up but not too much.

Jin handed Zuko a bowl and reached up to ruffle his hair. "Not yet," she said. "Soon."

For the past three days, the hawk had been at the center of every conversation — the target of active speculation or else a shadow looming over their words, unmentioned but no less oppressive for it. Not that Jet could blame them — within the reclaimed walls of the palace complex, there was little else to do but lick their wounds and wait to be told what had happened. He understood why they watched the sky so intently, aching for some scrap of news to arrive. The hawk would tell them if Ozai had survived, if the Fire Nation capital had fallen, if Aang and his friends had somehow managed to turn the tide of a century of war. But Jet was sick of hearing about it all the same, tired of pretending he didn't mind looping back toward it from whatever other topic he'd managed to coax out of the others. He knew what the cost of resolution would be, and he wasn't ready to pay it. Not yet. Not so soon, when they had barely won the time to live their lives again.

As he and Zuko walked along the banquet tables in search of a place to sit, nodding to acknowledge the cheerful greetings of their comrades, Jet scanned the breakfasting crowd for Smellerbee and Longshot. They'd have saved two seats, he was sure, and would let him ramble on about whatever he liked, comfortably sandwiched between them and Zuko on the bench. His friends understood without his having to explain, avoiding mention of the hawk entirely whenever they were able. The Jet of a year ago would have resented being coddled, but that morning he craved the shelter of their discretion, as flimsy and temporary as it might be.

He still wasn't used to so many time-worn faces, broad shoulders and beards and womanly curves standing out in marked contrast to the half-grown boys and girls who had served as his army that summer. Some of the White Lotus had already left Ba Sing Se, sent to discover how other cities had fared in the eclipse or to follow rumors of the Earth King's movements. But a few dozen blue and white robes remained, and with a sigh Jet's gaze settled on one cluster of them in particular: four men, chatting amiably with Smellerbee while Longshot ate his soup in attentive silence. So much for coddling.

Plates of thousand-layer cake had been laid out on the tables, and Smellerbee plucked up a slice between gloved fingers as Jet and Zuko approached. "Wait, he _picked them up_?" she was saying, her mouth half-full of cake.

"And threw them over the city walls," Pakku drawled. "Not terribly practical, but I suppose I'll grant him marks for style."

"Who picked what up?" Zuko asked reasonably as he and Jet took their places on the bench.

"Factories," said Piandao, dryly amused. "It seems King Bumi was displeased with the industrialization of his city."

"He was kind enough to send word this morning," said Iroh, prompting a loud snort from Pakku. "Of a sort."

"Rather generous of you to call an illustration of him tossing buildings around 'word,'" said Pakku.

"He did write a note, as well," said Iroh.

Pakku rolled his eyes. "Yes, forgive me for not mentioning the poem he so thoughtfully included."

"Firebenders got bent / Time for an old man party? / My nose is itchy," recited Piandao.

"We should be grateful to have any message at all," Jeong Jeong muttered darkly. "At least we _know_ the fate of Omashu."

Beside Jet, Zuko's face paled, his lips a tight line as he stared down at his soup. It was easy for Jet to forget, amidst all his own anxieties, that Zuko was wound just as tightly as he was. Squeezing Zuko's hand under the table, Jet tried to think of how best to redirect the flow of conversation, away from musings on the fate of distant royalty with not-so-distant connections to themselves.

He grasped at the first topic that came to mind. "So, how goes the recruiting?"

"As well as can be expected," said Iroh, cheerful as he sipped his tea. "In a very real sense, I have betrayed my homeland, and I can hardly blame Fire Nation soldiers for being distrustful. But the war has not been kind to our people, and I have found many a sympathetic ear among the prisoners. They understand that my brother's time is at an end, and that soon the sun will rise on a new era of our history."

"General Zha certainly didn't make your job any harder," said Pakku. "When you leave your own men to die in the street, it hardly inspires loyalty."

Jet nodded, a strange but very real pang of sympathy in his chest. On the night after the eclipse they'd gathered in this courtyard to share their stories, and Jet had listened for hours as his comrades described what had happened outside the palace walls.

Zuko had been exactly right — Zha had left his Firebenders to die, completely ignorant of the danger they faced for his sake. But while the Firebenders had shown remarkable bravery in the face of both the Dai Li and the sky itself turning against them, the battle had been cruelly brief. The scraps of non-bending infantry that Zha had behind had crumpled before a thrice-strong assault, Dai Li and Freedom Fighter and White Lotus all sweeping through their lines while the Firebenders clung to borrowed spears they hadn't the first idea how to use. Those left standing when the sun reappeared had tried their best to keep their men together and hold their positions, hunkered down in armories and guard houses until the Dai Li tore the very walls apart.

"I am certain you're right, Pakku," said Iroh. "But I cannot find much comfort in the suffering of my people, however I may benefit from it."

"Nor can I," said Jeong Jeong. He shook his head gravely. "I have no great love of my country, and no patience for those who blindly follow the path that Ozai has laid. But these were not seasoned warriors, recognizing the truth of justice and refusing its burden. They were little more than children, far from home and worn too thin." He sighed. "A bitter victory."

"Most of those Firebenders were our age," said Smellerbee, a little tetchy as she took another bite of cake.

"A child can be taught to fight," Jeong Jeong grumbled. "That does not make her any less a child. Nor does it lessen her need for the wisdom of her elders."

Smellerbee scowled at him, her eyes narrowed beneath her headband. "We got along just fine without any 'elders' in the forest."

"I may not have lived in your valley, child, but I know what happened there. Word travels quickly in the forests of the Earth Kingdom, and I have sheltered more than one victim of your 'justice.' Do not presume to tell me that you 'got along just fine.' You _survived_, and even that came at far too great a cost."

"They did the best they could," snapped Zuko, startling them all.

But Jet found he didn't want to be defended. "No…Jeong Jeong's right," he said, quiet and low. He picked at the soup he was no longer hungry for. "We made a lot of mistakes. Some pretty bad shit."

"Jet-"

"We killed a lot of people who didn't need to die. Doesn't matter what we thought. We are who we are. We did what we did."

Zuko frowned. "Jet, we talked about this."

"You can go off and fix things and be a hero, Zuko, but that's not how it works for me," said Jet, harsh in a way he didn't mean but couldn't help. "That's not gonna be my life."

Iroh had listened to all of this in silence, his eyes moving between them as he sipped his tea. Now he set his cup down on the table and said, "Do not dismiss yourself so quickly, Jet. In this time of transition and renewal, your generation is of far greater importance than ours. Master Jeong Jeong may have forgotten the trials of his own youth, but there were many of them." He laughed. "Not that I was any better. At your age, I wanted for nothing. My every move was carefully advised. My every need was immediately met. I did not understand suffering or pain or loss. I had no way to comprehend the world of those less fortunate than myself."

Iroh's gaze connected with Jet's across the table, then, and its intensity sent a cold shiver up his spine. "You may lack our years of experience, but you have your own kind of wisdom. You have made mistakes, yes, but you have learned from them; you have suffered and grown stronger. You have seen the worst of the times in which we live, but you have not allowed it to rob you of your humanity, your love or your compassion. You wish to better yourself. To atone."

"Yeah. I guess I do," said Jet, and felt his stomach twist. He knew where this was going.

Iroh turned to grin at his nephew, then, and the twist became an icy knot of panic. "Of course we must learn from our past. We must always remind ourselves of where we have come from, so that we can be sure of where we must go next. But this is a time for youth. For idealism." His eyes glistened. "_Your_ time, my nephew."

Zuko shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Uncle…you know that's not true…"

"Iroh's words are not the flattery of a relative, Prince Zuko," said Piandao, uncharacteristically sharp.

"But this is ridiculous," Zuko insisted, heat rising to his cheeks. "You're all…_admirals_ and generals and Firebending masters. I'm just a banished prince the rest of the world's forgotten about. Why would anyone listen to me?"

"Old men like ourselves are mired in our own checkered histories," said Piandao, "Tainted forever by decisions we made half a lifetime ago. We can never escape the legacy of war and injustice that we inherited in our youth. We can never wash away the blood we spilt on foreign soil, the children we orphaned or the wives and husbands we widowed."

"But that is a burden you do not bear, Prince Zuko," said Iroh. "You played no part in our war, except the work you've done here. You love our nation, but you understand that it is only one of several — that none may presume its importance to be greater than the others."

"The pyre of hatred once burned inside of you," said Jeong Jeong, "fanned by the winds of sorrow and grief. But you have banked those flames with experience. With discipline. The fire that drives our nation to greatness is alight in your own heart, but you understand that it must be reined in by humility; tempered with restraint."

"You are the key to our people's salvation," said Iroh, his voice rough with quiet intensity. "You are our hope."

Zuko's eyes were round and white. "No. No, that's not…_you're_ who's important. All of you," he said, looking between the older men. "You're the ones people will listen to."

"Your words carry more weight than you know," Jeong Jeong rumbled.

"He's right," said Smellerbee, who had been listening silently to all of this. Her voice was soft, but Jet could hear the steel of certainty beneath it. "Remember that speech you made at the camp? Right before the eclipse? That meant a lot to people."

"I'm not the one who's been talking prisoners into joining us," said Zuko, bristling defensively.

"Because you refused to go with me when I asked," said Iroh mildly.

"Because _I'm_ not who they want to follow!" Zuko snapped. "Because Fire Nation shoulders aren't going to listen to some kid who was banished three years ago! And why should they? I'm no one. No…_worse_ than no one. I'm a _traitor_."

"You are the prince of the Fire Nation," said Iroh.

"I used to be," said Zuko. "But that was years ago."

"You are the son of Fire Lord Ozai. Whether or not you believe that is important, your people do." Iroh reached across the table, taking Zuko's free hand in both of his. "Your father and grandfather and great-grandfather were the traitors, Prince Zuko, but now it is your time. Your chance. You have it within you to mend this world, to heal the wounds that have festered for generations. I beg of you not to refuse the responsibilities of your birthright."

"That's not who I am anymore," said Zuko, insistent. "Of course I'll fight for as long as I have to, but it's not like I'll be the one to take the throne when…" He paused, and the anger evaporated in the space of an exhaled breath, his throat moving as he swallowed. "Once my father's gone."

Jeong Jeong stared at him. Pakku drew a mouthful of smoke and blew it out between pursed lips, tendrils curling in the air above him as he frowned. Piandao steepled his fingers, eyebrows arched high as he glanced between his comrades. Smellerbee and Longshot focused on their soup. The sounds of breakfast continued all around them, cheerful voices and the click of chopsticks against porcelain, Freedom Fighters and Dai Li and members of the Order all going about the start of their day, oblivious to the pocket of heavy sobriety with Zuko at its center.

Iroh looked into his nephew's eyes, still and silent and unusually serious. His expression might have seemed disappointed to the others, but Jet could see the truth of it — that concern, not frustration, pulled at the corners of his mouth. Iroh said nothing, but his was an eloquent silence, and Zuko wilted before it.

"I can't," said Zuko. "I just…" He looked helplessly at Jet, his voice tight with anxiety. "That's not how things are anymore."

The tension had reached excruciating levels, all of them watching in mute impotence as Zuko's stubborn resolve began to crumble. Jet knew that if he waited long enough, someone else would take care of this for him — that if he sat on his hands and kept his mouth shut, he wouldn't have to be the one to tell Zuko what they all knew to be true.

"I'm gonna borrow Zuko for a while," he said, his tone deceptively light in a precise, practiced way. "If that's all right."

Jeong Jeong's scowl deepened. "You cannot simply-"

"Until word of the invasion arrives, there is little else for us to do," said Iroh, cutting smoothly through Jeong Jeong's protest. "I see no reason for them not to enjoy this respite. Other matters can wait."

"I'll have him back in an hour, okay?" said Jet, already on his feet again and pulling a visibly overwhelmed Zuko up from the bench. Smellerbee and Longshot shared a glance and then turned to him as one, concerned inquiry on their faces. Jet smiled at them. "We won't go far."

They walked together across the courtyard, past the tables of breakfasting soldiers and the circle of men washing their clothes at the well, between the servant's quarters and storage sheds, to the unbroken curve of the wall that bordered the palace grounds. It was two stories high, towering over the modest structures that had housed the staff of a king, and supported a narrow walkway for palace guards to use on their patrols. The outside of the wall, Jet knew, was featureless and smooth, designed to slow the intruders it couldn't stop entirely. But a ladder of shallow indentations had been carved into the inside face of it, and Jet used them now to haul himself up off the ground. The muscles of his arms twinged, stiff after several days of too little practice and too much time in bed.

Zuko followed silently a little ways behind him, and once Jet had reached the top of the wall he swung his legs around and sat with them dangling over the walkway, watching Zuko's progress over his shoulder. He had gotten much better at climbing in the time Jet had known him, faster and more confident as he slipped between the different plains of life in Ba Sing Se — the sewers, the streets, the rooftops and the walls themselves. That summer, Jet had taught him a great many tangible things: how to fight Firebenders with swords, how to train a young army, how to season rice porridge, how to kiss and where to put his hands when he did.

Jet had learned his own lessons in turn, but none were so straightforward as fighting and cooking and sex. They brought no satisfaction of accomplishment, no soothing sense of competence. They ran difficult and deep, a current of doubt that eroded old convictions. They hurt, and Jet had not wanted to learn them. He had never asked to know the things Zuko had told him, or to understand how the world looked through the golden eyes of Firebenders.

But he did. Or at least, he was beginning to.

Zuko sat beside him on the wall, ran a hand back through hair damp with sweat and stared out across the rubble-strewn borderland Azula had razed — past the ornate residences and neglected grounds of the upper ring, the terra-cotta roofs of warehouses and dry goods stores and taverns, the distant smokestacks of factories. "It doesn't look so bad from here," he said. Jet slid his hand over to brush against Zuko's fingers, but he didn't reply. And after a moment, Zuko went on. "It was kind of nice to live in a city again. Even, you know…with everything. I guess I'd missed it."

"It's not so bad," said Jet, meticulously neutral. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Zuko was looking at him.

"Would you want to stay?" Zuko asked with nervous hesitation. "I mean…here. In Ba Sing Se."

"That depends on some stuff I can't know right now," said Jet. "I'll stay if there's a reason to."

"But you want to go back to the forest again."

Jet shrugged with feigned nonchalance. "I miss sleeping in trees."

"I know things were weird with the other Freedom Fighters," said Zuko. "But they'd have to forgive you now, right? After everything you did. They'd have to let you go home."

"If it's even still there," said Jet.

"It will be," said Zuko. Then, wavering again, "Do you think they'd be okay with me, though? I mean…I know you and Smellerbee would explain…" He swallowed. "I'll pretend not to be a bender again if I have to, but-"

"Zuko." Jet closed his eyes and lifted his free hand, pressing his fingers against one temple. "What exactly do you think you're going to do after the hawk gets here?"

"Whatever needs doing," said Zuko. "We have to put Ba Sing Se back together again. And find the Earth King, and all the bureaucrats who left. The important ones, anyway. I thought maybe I'd help out with that." He smiled, sheepish. "I'm pretty good at finding people."

If it had been anyone else saying such preposterous things, Jet would have exploded at them, demanding they be serious. But he knew better than to think that Zuko was fucking with him. Zuko was always serious.

Still. "You have to know it can't be like that."

Zuko's smile faltered. "Like what?"

"You can't stay here," said Jet, the blunt words sour in his mouth.

"Stay where? In Ba Sing Se?" Zuko laughed, taut with nerves. "Well…it's like I said…we could go to the forest and-"

"You can't stay in the Earth Kingdom." Jet hated to hear that truth in his own voice, and hated even more that he had to be the one to say it. But he pressed on, his eyes fixed on the narrow walkway in front of them. "You have to go back home. To the Fire Nation."

"I don't…" He could hear Zuko licking his lips. "That's not what I want."

"You're gonna stand there and tell me you don't care what happens back home? That you'll dick around the plains with me looking for the Earth King while the Fire Nation goes to shit?" He chuckled mirthlessly. "You'll just…what? Let your uncle take care of it?"

"I…" Zuko took a deep breath, held it, then let it out shuddering and slow. "Yes."

"Bullshit," said Jet. There was no sharpness in his tone, the curse more resigned than angry. "Look…we both know the Fire Nation's really fucked up right now. Your family started a shitty war for shitty reasons, and…" He caught himself, took another breath. No accusations. Not today.

Jet raised his eyes and looked out at the rolling landscape of roofs and walls. "Things've been really bad for a long time," he said. "For everyone, not just us." He flinched. "Not just the Earth Kingdom. And all most of us can do is keep fighting and hope we make a difference. Save a few lives. Take back a city like this one, for a while anyway."

Jet thought of a town in an autumn-red valley, lost and reclaimed a dozen times over, his sympathies worn thin by the compromises of exhausted villagers. He remembered crouching in the branches of a tree, watching through a screen of leaves as a Fire Nation soldier helped an old woman fix her roof. He could recall with disturbing clarity the churn of anger in his stomach, how he had imagined watching both of them drown and felt a deep and horrible satisfaction. "Zuko…" His mouth was dry, his voice strained and rasping. "There's only so much that someone like me can do. I could fight for my entire life, and the soldiers'll keep coming. People will keep dying. Cities'll fall apart, and we won't always be able to save them."

"Jet-"

"No," said Jet. "No, just….just listen to me." He pushed himself off the ledge, the leather of his soles making a soft, scratching sound on the stone walkway. He stepped across it and leaned against the opposite side, his palms flat on sun-warmed granite. He couldn't look at Zuko. Not if he wanted to get this out. "You're still a prince," he said. "You can do things the rest of us can't."

Jet imagined he could hear Zuko's frown as he replied, his voice a heartbreaking mix of stubbornness and panic. "Jet, I'm not important enough to-"

"Stop saying that!" Jet barked, knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the wall. "It's not true, all right? You're the prince of the fucking Fire Nation. If we can take out your dad and your sister, you'll be the Fire Lord. _You_." He laughed at the absurdity of it, a harsh and helpless sound. "Shit, Zuko…try and see it from where I'm standing, okay? This war's been trying to kill me every single day of my life. I've lost so many people I can't even remember them all sometimes. So many that their faces start to run together. And now my…" Another laugh, louder and crazier than the first. "And now my _boyfriend's_ gonna be the Fire Lord? _Really_?"

"Jet-"

"You could end this war in a _day_." Jet bowed his head, the tendons standing out from his arms. "I love you, Zuko. If you honestly want to stay here, I'm not gonna let them force you to go. But I don't think that's how it is."

Jet heard rustling cloth and the scrape of Zuko's boots. Then strong, familiar arms slid around his ribs, solid warmth pressed against his back and hot breath on his neck. Lips brushed his skin as Zuko whispered, "I don't want to leave you."

Jet reached up to cover Zuko's hand with his, holding it close to his chest. The skyline blurred. "I don't want you to go," he said. "But I can't keep you here while the world falls apart. I can't be what holds you back."

Zuko hugged him even tighter, making Jet's ribs ache. "I can't be away from you again."

Jet squeezed his hand. "Well…it might just have to be like that. For a while," he added, feeling like a liar before it was even out of his mouth. He had no illusions about how often the paths of Fire Nation royalty and obscure Earth Kingdom peasants would cross.

He felt Zuko bury his face in his hair. "You should come," said Zuko, muffled but unmistakable, and Jet felt as it someone had punched him in the stomach.

"What?" he asked stupidly.

"To the Fire Nation," said Zuko. "With me."

"What?" he asked again, dizzy from the airless compression of his chest. Then, "No," although he'd barely processed the question he was answering. He stepped forward out of Zuko's arms and leaned against the ledge again. "No, I can't do that."

"Why?"

"I…" Jet opened his mouth, but he couldn't think of anything to say. It seemed completely obvious to him that was Zuko was suggesting would be impossible; that no matter how much his internal geography had changed, there was no way he could follow Zuko home like some kind of lost boarwolf pup. He felt a violent, panicked reflex of rejection, the idea laughable to even contemplate. The _Fire Nation_? How could Zuko be standing there asking him "why?"

He felt Zuko's hand on his back, the touch light and hesitant. "I'm sorry," Zuko murmured. "I shouldn't've asked."

Somehow, the apology felt even more violently wrong than the question, and Jet spun around to face Zuko again, bursting with angry protests but unsure what he was even objecting to. Zuko looked painfully young and scared and stubborn all at once, his eyes so full of love and worry that Jet's anger abandoned him, leaving a deep, starved longing in its wake for a boy and a life he was sure he couldn't have.

"Zuko," he said, with no idea of what would follow.

Whatever it was, it would have to wait — a raspy voice sounded from behind and beneath them. Smellerbee. "Jet," she said.

He turned back toward the palace grounds, leaning out over the ledge. Smellerbee stood a few feet away from the base of the wall with Longshot behind her, her silhouette made even more small and slight by perspective. Jet looked at her face — at her brave stoicism edged with fear — and knew what she had come to tell them.

"Aang lost," she said.

Jet shifted his gaze back to the boy beside him, who seemed as if his legs might give out, his hand coming up to grab hold of Jet's shoulder. Jet watched as the color drained from his face, throwing his scar into even sharper contrast. And he wondered how Zuko must feel in that moment, devastated at the news that his father was still alive.

oOo

Jet leaned against the long-neglected dining hall and scuffed tracks in the dirt, a quivering stalk of grass between his lips. He could hear low voices through the wall, distinct enough from each other that he knew who was speaking, but the words themselves were unintelligible. Just as well, really — this wasn't a debate he wanted to be privy to. All he cared about was the decision at the end. For better or worse, at least he'd know what to expect tomorrow.

Smellerbee and Longshot had been walking in long, slow circles around this corner of the grounds, although they'd tried to mask this fact by changing their route to vary the time between these informal checkins. Jet smiled at them each time they rounded the corner, answering their nods with one of his own and sometimes adding a friendly "hey." The ritual was a familiar one, played out dozens of times over the years — when waiting to see if an injured friend would make it through the night, or whiling away the hours before a raid — and Jet took some comfort in it. He understood its meaning: that he could have all the space he needed for now, but they'd be at his side once he was finished with solitude.

A few hours before, the voices behind him had roiled with conflict, frustrated shouts of protest and insistence that clashed against each other. Fragments of conversation had risen to comprehensibility, enough for him to glean the basic gist of this argument: that all agreed on what had to be done, but the details of how were another matter. Jet couldn't catch most of the specifics, although he was fairly confident of his guesses: from where he stood, there weren't many options left to them.

His friends circled around again, a quarter hour or so after their last visit. But this time, instead of strolling past, they came to stand beside Jet outside the door of the hall, taking their places on either side of him. Jet smiled, to them and to himself. He was grateful for the company, and for not having to ask for it.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," said Smellerbee. She nodded toward the door. "You okay listening to this?"

"Guess so," said Jet. He sighed. "Mostly just figuring some stuff out."

"Any luck?"

"Sort of." Jet tilted his head back, gazing up at the patch of indigo sky between the buildings. He indulged in a few moments of longing for a view obscured by branches. "I miss the forest, Bee."

"I know," she said. "We all do."

"I guess I kept thinking I'd end up back there, once this was over. Back in the valley, even, if we lucked out. Just…_home_, you know?" He closed his eyes and saw green plaster walls, an attic bed and a kitchen full of hungry kids in armor. "I guess I didn't think anywhere else _could_ be home. And now…I dunno…." He reached up to rub the new scar on the back of his neck, smooth and sensitive. "I think I know what I'll have to do. But it's…"

"Not what you thought you'd want," said Smellerbee, soft and patient.

"Not really, no."

"It's a little scary, I guess," she said. "All this at once."

Jet chuckled. "It's fucking terrifying."

He felt a small hand on his arm, and when he looked down at Smellerbee her face was solemn, her full lips pressed together. "Whatever you do," she said. "Wherever you go. We'll be there."

His throat closed. "Bee, I can't expect you to-"

"Our home is with you," she said, unwavering.

"Bee-"

"And yours is with him."

Jet shook his head, feeling dizzy again. "It's really weird to hear you just…say it like that."

"It's true."

"Is it?" He took a deep breath, wishing his heart would slow and the buzzing in his ears would die down. "He asked me to go."

"Will you?"

"Shit, I don't know." He ran a hand over his face. "I mean…what would I even _do_ there?"

"Same thing you did here," said Longshot quietly. "Help people. Make things better."

Jet snorted. "No one there gives a shit about who I am or what I've got to say."

"Maybe," said Smellerbee. "But he does."

Jet shivered a little from what that implied. "I can't believe we're even having this conversation," he said, terse with frustration. "Zuko and Iroh and the White Lotus guys, that's one thing. But a whole island of them? You expect me to go there and act like I don't want to burn the place to the ground?"

"Do you?" She gestured beyond the palace walls, to the crumbling buildings and scorched earth and ruined streets. "After all this?"

Jet stared at the scuff marks in the dirt. "I'm tired of this," he said. "Bee, I'm so tired."

"You've been fighting for the rest of us for years," she said. "It's okay to want something for yourself."

"I don't-"

"I think you do," she said. "You just have to learn to live with it."

_How?_ Jet wanted to ask, but there wasn't time just then. Scraping chairs inside the dining hall evidenced the conclusion of the meeting, and Smellerbee and Longshot slipped away, each offering Jet one last smile before they melted out of sight down shadowy paths. Jet tried his best not to let his nerves show as the door swung open and a line of men emerged — Piandao and Jeong Jeong and Iroh and a handful of Firebenders from the Order that Jet didn't know, all of whom nodded respectfully as they passed him.

Zuko came last, wide-eyed and overwhelmed as the little courtyard emptied. It seemed everyone else understood that the two of them needed time to do this on their own; that this wasn't a conversation that could bear the weight of an audience.

"So." Jet reached up to push the hair from Zuko's brow. "I guess it's decided, then?"

"Yeah," said Zuko. He looked down at his shoes, his voice unsteady. "Uncle thinks we should leave as soon as possible. We know where the Avatar is, but he might not stay there for long. So…" He paused to breathe. "So it'll just be us at first. Everyone else'll come a few weeks later. Once we have a plan, and things aren't so bad here."

Jet drew the grass from his mouth and dropped it to the ground. Then he took a small step forward, his own chin lowered, until their foreheads bumped together. "At least you'll have Iroh," he said.

"Yeah." Zuko took Jet's shoulders in his hands, fingertips digging in hard enough to hurt. "So um…" Jet could feel him draw a shuddering breath. "So I guess we should…I mean, after dinner we should just…"

"Dancing," said Jet. He kissed Zuko's forehead, just at the border of his scar. "Lots of dancing. I know Jin's looking forward to teaching you a few things."

"But…"

"Also drinking. We have to get Ping wasted at least once while we have the chance."

Zuko pulled back enough to look in Jet's eyes, his own confused and a little embarrassed at whatever he'd imagined they'd spend the night doing. "I…Jet, we're leaving tomorrow…"

"Yeah, well….you know. I'll see you soon enough, right?" Jet grinned, a little weak but genuine, and the look on Zuko's face was almost enough to make him change his mind about their evening. "You won't be back here for months, at least," Jet went on, as if his heart weren't pounding. "Maybe longer. You should spend some time with everyone while you can. I know Wang was looking for you before."

Zuko's cheeks flushed bright red. "She found me, actually…" He reached inside his tunic, fumbling a little with nerves, then drew out what appeared to be a short dagger in a dark, lacquered sheath. "I'd asked her to look for this. In our room. I mean…what was left of it." Zuko held the knife out on the flat of his palm, and even in the low light of lantern and moon Jet could see it was beautiful, worn with use but splendidly made. Its jade inlay and gold fixtures were completely intact, forming intricate patterns of badgermoles and flowers. Jet had seen weapons like this before, but only rarely — most of them had been the private treasures of Fire Nation soldiers, found on their bodies and traded for supplies in town.

Jet picked it up, tested the weight of it in his hand and raised an impressed eyebrow. Well-balanced and solid — not just there to look pretty. "This is yours? Looks Earth Kingdom."

"Read the inscription."

Jet pulled the dagger out of its sheath, just far enough to reveal the characters stamped into the metal. "'Never give up without a fight,'" he murmured.

"It belonged to one of the Earth King's generals," said Zuko. "He gave it to Uncle during the siege of Ba Sing Se, and then Uncle sent it home to me." He smiled a little, lopsided and shy. "I want you to have it."

Jet frowned. "I can't take this," he said. "If it's from Iroh, you should-"

"Not forever," said Zuko, still awkward but with the obstinance Jet knew so well. "Just…I want you to look after it for me. For a while. Until we…" He faltered, and Jet felt a surge of protective affection in his chest. "Until we see each other again."

So much remained uncertain in both of their lives. So much could happen between now and when the comet came. Zuko would be thousands of miles and an ocean away, out of reach except by hawk and even those only rarely, the risk of being discovered too great for any but the most important news to be worth it. Their allies would have to find the Earth King and rebuild the government and hold back the line of Fire Nation soldiers who'd be all too eager to retake the cities they'd lost. They would have to push aside the disappointment and despair of a failed invasion and keep their eyes forward, focused on the slender hopes and steely will that were all they had left. They would have to cross the world with whatever forces they managed to scrape together, find the Avatar and his friends despite their need to stay carefully hidden, and stand against the third in a line of Fire Lords whose ruthlessness had colored every moment of all of their lives.

Jet tucked the knife into his belt, careful to make certain it wouldn't fall. Then he pulled Zuko into a kiss, one hand gently cupping the other boy's head and the other laid along his jaw. "All right," he said, pulling away just far enough to speak. "Until then."

oOoOo


	13. Epilogue

oOoOoO

_Hey, handsome._

_They say I can't put your name on here. Someone else might get this hawk before you do, and our flower club friends are too busy to code it. But that's okay. I don't want them to read this anyway. And I figure you'll know who I mean._

_Things have been weird since you left. We built all this together, you know? I can see you everywhere. The kids you trained still fight like you do. They make tea the way you showed them. Wang talks about you all the time. So do those crazy old farts. I guess they have high hopes for what you two are doing. _

_I guess I should be worried, but I'm not. You'll be fine. Yeah, you did some bad shit before, but everyone loves you now. You're impossible to resist. I should know, right? You'll probably be singing songs with your new buddies around a campfire by the time you even get this. Drink an extra cup of baijou for me._

_Wish us luck. It's been rough, but we're getting there. At least now we have tents. Though I'd like to have more company in mine._

_Try not to forget about us._

oOo

They had built a fire to signal their position, piling green branches on the flames that sent a curl of gray smoke up through the canopy. Zuko watched it apprehensively, knowing whose eyes it was meant for, but Uncle appeared completely unconcerned. His attention was on the cast iron kettle tucked between the coals, a replacement for the one that now lay with the wreckage of their old steamship. Uncle had always insisted that Firebent tea was a sorry substitute.

Uncle poured the hot water into two small cups, leaves swirling to the surface as they unfolded in the moist heat. But Zuko didn't reach for his. He wasn't in the mood to be soothed. "How much longer?" he asked.

"Patience, Prince Zuko," said Uncle. He lifted his own cup and breathed deeply of the perfumed steam that rose from it. "You have waited three years for this moment. Another hour is nothing."

Zuko knew his uncle meant to be kind, so he grimaced and kept his mouth shut. He couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't irritable or defensive or both, no matter how often he reminded himself he was supposed to be excited.

They were about to take the next, exhilarating step toward changing the world for the better. This was the beginning of an alliance that would alter the course of Fire Nation history for generations to come. The scale of this moment's importance was far beyond the petty regrets or desires or hardships of any one person.

But Zuko stared at the moss-draped trees all around them and felt little but shame and regret. This landscape was humiliatingly familiar.

He'd scoured this forest and the ruins it sheltered for days, half-blinded and dizzy with pain, expecting to see a tattooed head around every turn. Hope had still held him in its thrall, then. Like an idiot, he'd still believed what his father had promised. He'd thought he would be home within a year.

Zuko kicked restlessly at the ground, wearing a track through the moss to the dark soil beneath. He'd pried most of the bark off the trunk, and now he carved untidy lines into the exposed wood with his fingernail. What began as an abstract doodle slowly evolved into the character for "hero," the first in the self-appointed name of a certain other boy.

_Hero of_ what_?_ Zuko had asked once, before he'd known how raw a wound lay behind the answer. _Not much, anymore,_ Jet had said, and Zuko had laughed. He'd thought that Jet was joking.

Months later, Zuko finally understood how Jet had felt: adrift in the space between lives, the past cut loose but the future still a terrifying blank.

He slipped his fingers into his pocket, brushing them against a tightly-folded square of parchment. Zuko wished he knew what he'd be able to bring with him, as he moved on to whatever the future held — who would be at his side while the whole world spun around him.

Jet's letters were full of small jokes and sweet sentiments, but they made no promises, the avoidance of commitment obvious in its care. And Zuko couldn't bring himself to ask.

"Nephew," Uncle said quietly, interrupting his thoughts.

Zuko followed the line of his gaze. Between the trees was a flash of orange cloth.

"Uncle…" he whispered.

Uncle lowered his teacup to the ground. "Remember what we spoke of before."

"Uncle, I don't know…" He swallowed. "Maybe we should wait-"

"You have waited long enough, Prince Zuko. It is time to face the destiny you have chosen for yourself."

Zuko stood as four figures emerged from the underbrush, their faces and postures wary: the Waterbender girl, hand quivering over the pouch at her belt; her brother, blue eyes intent and calculating as he toyed with some small object in his fingers; a young girl who moved like an Earthbender four times her size, whom Zuko thought looked familiar; and just behind them, staff in hand…

"The Avatar," Zuko whispered, barely more than a breath.

"Zuko," said the Avatar, low and cautious.

Uncle bowed, his beard nearly brushing the ground. "You honor us with your presence, Avatar Aang," he said. "Thank you for agreeing to hear what my nephew and I have to say."

The Water Tribe boy lifted a Pai Sho tile to eye-level, holding it between thumb and forefinger so they could see the lotus blossom. "A man I trust gave me one of these," he said. "You sent the same tile with your letter. That buys you one conversation." He closed his hand around it again, his eyes flickering between Zuko and Iroh. "After that, we'll see."

The smaller girl tilted her head, as if listening to something the rest of them couldn't hear, then smiled. "It's good to see you again," she said. "I'm glad you're okay, you took a pretty bad hit from Zuko's crazy sister."

Uncle chuckled softly. "I am glad to see you as well."

"You know him?" asked the boy, frowning.

The girl turned her head towards him, although Zuko was beginning to suspect this was mostly for show. Her eyes were milky blue and never moved. "Yeah, he's a friend of mine. He made me tea one time and gave me some great advice. You can trust him."

"You can trust me, too," said Zuko, the words bursting out of him before he could stop himself.

The boy quirked an eyebrow. "Uh huh."

"He _did_ help us fight Azula," said the Earthbender girl.

"Yeah, but where's he been since then? He only gave up hunting Aang because everyone thought he was dead. No offense," he added as an aside to the Avatar, who shrugged very slightly. "So how do we know you're not just here to try and capture Aang again?" he went on, facing Zuko now. "Your letter wasn't exactly informative."

"A hawk can be intercepted," said Uncle patiently. "Which is why we are here to speak with you."

Zuko swallowed, his heart quickening with the beginnings of panic. None of this was going like he'd expected it to. If he didn't say his piece soon, he'd loose his nerve entirely. "We want to help," he blurted, his words rushed. "We came from Ba Sing Se…see, there was this eclipse-"

"We know," said the Water Tribe boy.

Zuko faltered. "Um…yeah. Well, so the eclipse happened, and we took the city back from the Fire Nation…I mean, hah, the _other_ Fire Nation, not us. But we still have to fight the Fire Lord. And my sister. So Uncle and I came to find you, so we can teach the Avatar Firebending before the comet comes." He paused and looked at the Avatar, hoping for some sign that any of this was making sense. "I mean, unless you have a Firebending teacher already…but Uncle would probably be better at it, really, so you should just-"

The Water Tribe boy stepped between them. "Okay, hold up," he said, hands splayed in front of him. "Let's just break this down for a second here. You're telling us that _you_ took back Ba Sing Se?"

"Well….yeah," said Zuko, wavering. "And the Freedom Fighters. And the White Lotus. And the Dai Li…kind of…"

The boy frowned. "The Dai Li?"

"The _Freedom Fighters_?" the Waterbender snapped, speaking for the first time. "You mean _Jet's_ Freedom Fighters?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "You're saying Jet let two _Firebenders_ into his gang? Really?"

Her voice was thick with sarcasm, but Zuko forced himself not to cringe. He remembered the night beside the stream in the agrarian ring, whispering to Jet under the stars about new hope and old regrets. "He's not the same person you knew," said Zuko. "And neither am I."

The Avatar rested a hand on the other boy's shoulder, gently pushing him aside. Then he looked up into Zuko's eyes, his brow furrowed beneath his tattoo. "Why did you come here?" he asked. His voice was quiet and hesitant, and hearing it after so long pressed the air from Zuko's lungs.

Zuko licked his lips, which felt suddenly thick and dry. "Because…" The Avatar's expression was intent and open; so much more serious than most boys his age. Zuko had often felt older than his years, too, but this was different. This body was young but it held a spirit thousands of years old. For a moment Zuko imagined he could see the line of birth and death stretching out behind him — hundreds of lives that dwelled behind this steady, gray gaze — and felt a thrill go up his spine. How could he ever have thought his honor was worth so great a price?

Zuko bowed his head, and felt his Uncle's hand on his back. "Things have been bad for a really long time," he said. "If they're going to get any better, my father has to be stopped. And if you're the one to stop him, then I want to help you. I want to do anything I can to fix things. Because I owe it to you, for hurting you and your friends. And I owe it to the world, for what my family's done."

For several seconds, no one spoke. The forest was still and sultry, and Zuko could hear the far off song of evening birds.

The Water Tribe girl moved to stand closer to the Avatar, watching Zuko out of the corner of her eye as she spoke. "Aang, I don't know…"

"You said we could be friends, once," said Zuko. "Maybe you were right." He swallowed again through the tightness in his throat. "I want you to have been right."

"The tale of Ba Sing Se is a long and tangled one," said Uncle, his hand still pressed against Zuko's shoulder blade. "Let us tell it, at least, before you turn us away."

The Waterbender touched the Avatar's shoulder. "It's your decision, Aang," she said.

The Avatar pursed his lips. "I do like stories," he said, smiling a little. "It can't hurt to _listen_, right?"

Zuko exhaled in a rush of broken tension. "Thank you, Avatar," he said, his voice a little unsteady.

"'Aang,'" said the boy.

"What?"

The smile widened. "My friends call me 'Aang.'"

oOoOoOo

_Hey,_

_Well, it happened. I did it. _

_I'm still alive, so I guess it went okay. Uncle says he told you the details in a coded letter, so you'll know that already. But I can't talk to anyone here about what it was like. How it felt. So I thought I'd write to you. I'm sorry to bore you with this stuff but it's been hard, not having you here. I miss talking to you._

_I'm not sure what I was expecting. I knew it would be hard. Of course it would be, after all the things I did to them. But it's kept being hard. I can tell he wants to trust me, but she — I can't say her name, but you know who I mean — doesn't seem so sure. They're all trying to be nice, but I can feel them watching me. Waiting for me to do the wrong thing. Maybe waiting to see if I'll hurt him again. Uncle says it'll get better with time, but I don't know. Maybe it won't. It's not the same as it was with you. _

_I don't like how this feels. I can tell what people want me to be, but I don't know if I can do it. All these important things are happening, and you aren't here. I can't ask you what you think. You can't tell me it'll be okay._

_I miss you._

oOo

High in the branches of an ancient tree, Jet refolded the letter — carefully, as the parchment had worn thin at the creases — and tucked it into the belt. It had come a week ago, along with Iroh's promised account of the specifics. But Jet didn't much care about where the Avatar had been hiding, or Iroh's estimation of his Firebending progress, or how many days of food they'd collected. None of that had anything to do with him.

At some point, Iroh would send another hawk, and shortly afterward a group from the Earth Kingdom would cross the ocean to join them. Until then all, Jet could do was wait, his nerves stretching tighter with every day that passed. He didn't know what he would do when that hawk came. He just wanted the moment of decision to come — to force him to choose one way or the other.

A dense tapestry of oak spread across his field of vision, the deep and world-weary green of late summer glowing with filtered sunlight. A crisp breeze wound its way through the forest, and the stronger gusts whirled into crescendos of rustling leaves and the creak of protesting branches. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, slow lungfuls of air that hinted at autumn. In moments when the wind quieted, he could hear the distant voices of farmers calling to each other in the fields. The sounds of his boyhood, calming in a way very little else was these days.

Jet's hand drifted to his belt and settled on the dagger he kept there. It slid easily out of its sheath, and he examined his reflection in the polished surface of the blade. If he held it just so, it looked as if the characters of its inscription had been painted down one side of his face. It had been forged for an Earth Kingdom general, surrendered to the would-be conquerer of Ba Sing Se, and gifted to the heir to the Fire Nation throne. And now it had been leant optimistically to him, a gesture that was simple in a different way, maybe. Straightforward in the manner everything Zuko did seemed to be.

He re-sheathed the dagger, then, his stomach sour with guilt. He knew that he'd been anything but straightforward in his letters to Zuko — not in the ways that counted.

Smellerbee's raspy voice called to him from the ground. "There's a hawk," she said.

"Who's it from?" he asked, his tone deliberately casual, although he doubted Smellerbee was fooled for a second.

"They're still decoding it."

"Ah," he said, and rubbed the hilt of the dagger with his thumb.

Flanked by Smellerbee and Longshot, Jet climbed the rocky hillside that was their first line of defense, still charred in places from where the Firebenders had cleared the brush away. He'd been argued out of building their camp in the treetops, but no one could sway him from his insistence on higher ground. They could see for miles in every direction from the top of this hill, and the trees shielded them from the prying eyes of Fire Nation patrols.

Or rather, _Imperial_ Fire Nation patrols, as opposed to the colonial ones his own men had helped coordinate. After King Bumi's forces had driven Ozai's army out of the border colonies, militias of Fire Nation civilians and army deserters had taken on the task of their own defense. Jet had met with a few of them yesterday, to draw up patrol routes and hash out the details of supply lines.

Particularly surreal had been his own attempts to assign as many of the deserters as possible to their own colonies. He'd told himself it was for peacekeeping reasons, as civilians were far more likely to cooperate with familiar faces, but he knew perfectly well that empathy had played at least as great a part. He'd felt the pain of being far from home, much as it seemed he was destined to live with it.

He waved to the guards stationed at the perimeter, a former Dai Li barely out of his teens and a Firebender who'd surrendered to them at the palace in Ba Sing Se. Both wore the undyed hemp overcoats that passed for uniforms in the Siguo Jundui — the "Four Nation Army," though everyone called it the Siguo for short. The character for "four" had been painted in white on each of their chests. They bowed, a habit Jet disliked but couldn't talk anyone out of, and as usual he tried to brush off the formality with a "How's it going?" and a lopsided smile.

Jet and his friends walked briskly through the huddle of tents — brown and green so as to make them harder to spot from a distance — nodding to the men and women they passed but not stopping for conversation as they sometimes might. By the time they reached Piandao's tent, the weight of suppressed anticipation was starting to make Jet twitchy.

Inside, Piandao was sitting at the traveler's Pai Sho board he'd made for himself, the circular grid meticulously painted onto a sheet of heavy paper that could be rolled up and stored in a case. Seated opposite him was Xue Sheng, hand poised above a pot of wooden tiles as he waited for instructions. Several tiles had already been placed by then, but Jet couldn't discern any meaning in their pattern. That skill was only taught to initiates of the Order, an honor which Jet had no interest in himself.

The newly-arrived letter was open in Piandao's hands, but there was no point in trying to catch a glimpse over his shoulder. Instead, Jet crossed his arms and tried not to fidget too badly while he listened to Piandao read the list of moves aloud for Xue Sheng's benefit.

Once the last tile was in place, Piandao allowed the scroll to snap closed again, placed it on the ground beside the board and sat back on his heels. "Can you read them on your own?"

"I think so," Xue Sheng murmured. His eyes narrowed behind his glasses as he looked down at the board, his lips moving very slightly. Jet tapped his fingers against the hilts of his swords, beating out an impatient rhythm.

Then Xue Sheng straightened, pushed his glasses up his nose, and found Jet's gaze across the room. "They're ready."

oOoOoOo

Everything was rusted here — the doors, the walls, the floor, every hinge and pulley and hatch. The air was punishingly hot and saturated, coating every surface with a thin film of moisture. Zuko had grown up in humidity and heat, but this was beyond anything he'd experienced before — like a sauna he'd been forced to live in, his prison uniform perpetually soaked in sweat and his hair plastered to his face.

Zuko looked up at the sound of the peephole hatch sliding open, the metal squealing as it moved. Through it, Zuko could just barely see a pair of blue eyes, peering into the gloom of his cell. The visitor rapped gently on the door, two short and four long like Zuko had told him, then whispered, "It's me."

"Sokka…" Zuko got to his feet and moved to the door, peering at the other boy through the slit. "How long until we're ready?"

"Toph's still hidden in bedrock, but Haru's figured out a way to send her messages with his Earthbending, so that's set. She'll break you and Suki and my dad out of your cells, then we'll all meet up in the watchtower." He hesitated, in the manner Zuko already recognized as the first sign of very bad news. "We've got to move up the timeline, though."

Zuko frowned. "How far?"

"This afternoon."

"What happened to 'under cover of darkness'? And how're we supposed to let Katara know? She thinks she's picking us up tomorrow night!"

"Things got a lot more complicated," said Sokka, still worryingly vague. "You know those political prisoners you've been talking to? The ones who knew about Ba Sing Se and the Siguo? Did they tell you why they actually ended up here?"

Zuko shrugged a little, although there wasn't any way Sokka could see it. "They're dissidents. They probably just held a rally or put up some posters. The Fire Nation's pretty zero-tolerance about that stuff."

"Yeah, well apparently they're kind of a big deal."

"Go on."

"Big enough that they're being taken back to the capital for public execution."

"Shit." Zuko reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, spinning out implications in his mind. "Sokka, we can't leave them-" He stopped and looked up sharply. Something in Sokka's tone… "Wait. What are you leaving out?"

Sokka hesitated, and even through the peephole Zuko could tell he was flinching. "Your sister and her friends are here to pick them up."

Zuko felt like he'd been slapped in the face. He'd known this would happen eventually, but…not here. Not like this. "We have to get out of here now," he said. "And we're taking those prisoners with us."

"No. No no no no, no I am not going to get myself killed to save-"

"Sokka, they're going to _die_ if we leave them here," Zuko hissed.

"You didn't put them in prison! You weren't even _here_!"

"They were brought in for supporting the Siguo. The same army _we're_ supposed to be a part of. So doesn't that make them comrades?"

Sokka rubbed the back of his neck. "Technically…maybe…" He sighed. "You're right. But we're not gonna fit that many guys on Appa. We'll have to think of something-" He looked up sharply, his attention drawn to something down the corridor. "Later," he muttered, then ducked out of Zuko's field of vision.

Moments later, several pairs of booted feet approached from the other direction. They came to a stop outside his cell, and a voice Zuko had hoped not to hear again for some time said, "Open it."

Zuko could tell, in those first seconds after the door swung open, that Azula had not expected to find him here. He knew her that well, at least. So he wasn't fooled when she said, "Of course," as she stepped the rest of the way into his cell, the half-remembered figures of Mai and Ty Lee flanking her on either side.

Their recognition came more slowly — neither had seen him since he was thirteen years old — and when it did it was hard to miss. Particularly Mai, whose already pale face completely drained of color.

Four prison guards stood at the ready, but Azula waved them off. "Leave us," she said quietly, her eyes locked with Zuko's.

"But...Princess, he might-"

"Now," she snapped. "And close the door behind you."

The door squealed shut, and Azula dropped her authoritative stance, relaxing as if they were all friends, here. "The warden told me a new prisoner was causing trouble with the dissidents," she said. She couldn't quite hide the glint of malice behind her smile. "Posing as a guard, hmm? I'm impressed, that's awfully clever for you."

"Just tell me what you want," said Zuko.

"Zuzu, I'm hurt! I thought you'd be happy to see me. After all, we _are_ family."

"Unfortunately."

"I suppose I could have hunted you down in Ba Sing Se," she went on, as if he hadn't spoken, "but it hardly seemed worth the trouble. I knew you'd crawl back to the Fire Nation eventually, once you were done sulking over the Avatar." She rolled her eyes through a long-suffering sigh. "Of course, I might have bothered if I'd known that 'traitor' would turn out to be contagious."

Zuko understood what she was trying to do. The Siguo had been meticulous about its secrecy; she couldn't know more than the barest details of their personnel or their plans. She wanted to get him angry enough, or catch him sufficiently off-guard, to blurt those details out himself, and he wasn't so foolish to think she couldn't do it if he let down his guard for even an instant.

He clamped his mouth shut and tried to keep his face neutral, shifting his focus away from her face to the silent companions beside her. Ty Lee looked nervous, shifting her weight between her heels and the balls of her feet and glancing surreptitiously at Mai. And Mai, whom Zuko remembered as an awkwardly gloomy little girl, now appeared as a sculpted column of white, black and red, unreadable and perfectly still.

"Bad enough that your temper tantrum ended up costing me an entire city," Azula was saying, indifferent to his wandering gaze. "But now I hear you've been tempting Fire Nation troops into your little army? Honestly, Zuko, you _know_ they'll all be executed once the next invasion plan fails. I hadn't thought you could be so ruthlessly self-interested."

Zuko watched Mai's face carefully, searching for even the smallest reaction. When they were children, she'd been a frequent ally of circumstance against his sister's boredom. He wondered what she was thinking, now that her friend's mean-spirited games had bloomed into outright cruelty. He wished that he could catch her eye.

Azula pressed on. "Did those traitors you've been talking to explain why they're here? Did they tell you how they were 'recruiting' for your pathetic cause? They'll all be dead within two days, of course. The least I can do is make a public example of them, so no other idiots can be talked into throwing their lives away." She shook her head in a mockery of regret. "Most of them are Firebenders, too. Such a waste."

"Don't talk to me about 'waste,'" Zuko snapped, before he could think better of it. "Don't stand there and pretend you give a shit about anyone but yourself."

Azula pointedly examined her nails. "I can't imagine what you could possibly mean."

"Do you think winning this war is going to make things better for the Fire Nation? What is it that you're even fighting for, anyway? By the time you're done, the whole country's going to be ashes. And the people will keep fighting you until they're all dead."

"Let them. If they're too stupid to understand what's good for them, that's hardly my concern."

Zuko barked out an incredulous laugh. "You really think that?"

Azula shrugged. "I'll burn them _and_ their precious land to the ground if that's what it takes to make them see reason."

"You're crazy."

"I prefer to think of myself as 'efficient,'" said Azula. "If something's in my way, I destroy it."

She turned, showing her back to him in a display of unconcern, and knocked on the door to signal the guards. "I have no idea why you're here, Zuzu," she said as it swung open. "I can only assume you'd hoped to rescue your idiot friends. I hope you don't mind dying with them instead."

Behind her, for a fraction of a second before following her back into the hall, Mai's hard, emotionless stare met Zuko's across the room. He felt as if she were rifling through his intentions, forcing her way past all the walls he'd thrown up against his sister. Like they were children again, and he was staunchly insisting they shouldn't care what Azula said, or how often she tricked them into tumbling all over each other in the fountain.

Then she turned, her loose clothes whirling, and the door closed behind her.

oOo

"Katara, _we have to go!_"

He could just make her out through the haze of the fog she'd lifted from the lake, her water whip erupting into steam as it caught jets of blue flame. She'd long-since used up the contents of her pouch, and now drew moisture from the air around her with taut efficiency, the cycle mercilessly quick. Water to steam to water again, arcs of it slicing toward Azula between attacks, each more vicious than the last.

"The gondola's across!" Haru shouted, muffled by the wall of stone he'd just drawn up from the pile of rubble in front of him. A fireball broke against it, pouring harmlessly to either side, and he punched it from behind to send a series of rough projectiles toward the line of guards. On this wide, metal platform he'd had to bring his own earth with him, dragging it from the island the prison had been built on. Once the guards were down, he pulled the stone back toward him again, ready for the next attack.

"Got it," Toph grunted. She'd been defending the mechanism that drove the gondolas to the far shore, powered by steam from the lake below. Now she turned and drove her fists through the massive gears, tearing away handfuls of iron cogs and steel cable and throwing them carelessly at the guards who might try and stop her. "Now can someone blow that stupid whistle so we can get out of here?"

Another arc of flame roared across the platform, and Zuko split it in two before it could reach Toph's back, hands together and arms outstretched as if diving into a current. "Katara's not listening to me!"

"Shocking," Toph muttered as she moved on to the second gondola. It had no passengers, so instead of bothering with the machinery she went straight for the cable, pulling it apart as if it were cotton instead of steel. "Maybe go tell her a little louder, then?" she said, shouting to be heard over the racket as the gondola tumbled down into the lake.

The steam around Katara and his sister was now so thick that they were little more than smudges of shadow behind it, bursts of flame burning through the haze only to have the clouds of vapor sweep in again. He glimpsed their faces in these moments of clarity, shining with sweat and condensation.

Their plan had been for Katara to stay with Appa until they were ready, out of sight as she waited for their signal to swoop down and pluck them from the watchtower. But that had been before Azula, and the stolen hawk her brother had sent to explain the need for backup.

Katara had shot across the lake on a tenuous raft of ice just as the political prisoners were being loaded into the gondola. Now she grunted in annoyance as Zuko slid in between her and Azula, deflecting the next attack before she had a chance to. "I don't need your help!" she snapped.

Azula shook her head. "Honestly, Zuzu," she called, "can't you wait your turn?"

A blue torrent of heat poured over him, barely deflected in time. He could smell hair burning. "We need to go!"

Katara tried to move past him, already pulling another snake of water from the air. "I can beat her this time! Just give me another-"

"Not. _Now._" Zuko growled, each syllable accented by the impact of flame on his defenses.

The bison whistle dangled from a string at Katara's throat, and with a final snarl of frustration she yanked it out of her robes. As Zuko turned aside another burst of flame, she blew the whistle hard enough to puff out her cheeks, although the only sound that he could hear was a toneless rush of air.

Moments later, Appa's silhouette burst from the edge of the caldera, his bellow loud and long as he dove toward the platform.

"Haru!" Zuko called, throwing a handful of fire toward his sister. No matter that it barely phased her, as long as it kept her busy. She'd need a break in their rhythm to bend lightning, and he wasn't going to give it to her.

Azula laughed, unimpressed, as she brushed his efforts aside, and Zuko crouched to meet her returning flame with his hands splayed before him. But Haru slid to a halt beside Katara, then, his hair a sweat-matted tangle around his face, and the fire broke against the wall he wrenched up in front of them.

Then Toph was right behind them, with only a "Don't move" as warning before she bent a column of metal and stone straight up from the ground, launching all four of them through the air. For a brief, panicked moment Zuko was sure that she'd miscalculated. Then his face collided with dusty leather, and the sharp point of someone's elbow jammed into his back as they landed on top of him. He was still trying to right himself when he heard the booming crack of lightening.

But Appa didn't plummet from the sky, and Zuko heard no shouts of pain or horror. He pulled his head above the edge of the saddle in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of the gondola platform, Azula standing alone in a circle of rubble and injured guards.

Something about it twinged in the back of Zuko's mind.

"Looks like the airship took off all right," said Haru, facing the other way. "Are they meeting us at the temple?"

"They'll drop off Dad, Sokka and Suki," said Katara, her voice flat. "We still have to figure out where they'll go after that." She blew out a frustrated breath. "Dammit. I almost had her."

"Sure you did," said Toph.

"If you hadn't stopped me-!"

"Even if you'd beaten her, we were still in the middle of a boiling lake surrounded by Firebenders," said Haru. "We had to go."

Katara sniffed. "Maybe."

"Did any you see where Mai and Ty Lee went?" Zuko asked abruptly. The platform had dropped out of sight behind the wall of the volcano, but he watched the island recede as they flew north across the sea. "Or feel them," he added, still unsure how to talk to Toph about these things.

Katara leaned back against the saddle as she thought. "Huh. You know…I'm not sure. Haru, weren't they fighting you?"

"You mean the princess' friends?" He shrugged. "For a couple of minutes. I thought one of you must've been handling them."

"Not me," said Toph. "Too busy trashing stuff."

Zuko ran a hand back through his hair, frowning a little as he tried to remember. He'd seen both of them early on, while the prisoners were being loaded onto the gondola. And he'd glimpsed them fighting Haru, just after Katara showed up. But past that… "Yeah, they must have just…left, I guess..."

"Maybe they fell in the lake," said Katara darkly.

Zuko didn't reply. The nagging feeling was just that — a feeling, with next to nothing to back it up, too vague to properly describe. No point in pushing Katara any further, when he was treading a little close to the coals with her as it was.

Past the edge of the saddle and Appa's massive bulk, they could see the southern coast of what had been the Airbenders' island, rising sharply out of the sea. They still had some distance to go, but when he squinted he could make out the silhouette of a small ship, pulled up onto the sheltered beach of an inlet. A little closer, and he could see that it was narrow and wooden-hulled, with segmented sails lashed to its four masts. Zuko had encountered many like it before, during his years in exile. The sort of vessel preferred by Earth Kingdom merchants, quick but sturdy enough for distance.

Zuko felt a surge of excitement bubbling up in his chest, but just as quickly shoved it down again. The last hawk from the Siguo had been sent a week before their departure from the continent, when their plans were still uncertain. Iroh had never received word on who had been chosen for the voyage. Or rather, who had volunteered.

_He never said he'd come,_ Zuko told himself, as he had dozens of times in the last few days. _He never said he'd meet you here._

Zuko had tried to keep his hope as confined as possible, tempered by the realities of history and temperament. To willingly travel to the heart of the Fire Nation, weeks before Sozin's Comet would arrive, was too much to ask of anyone. And for Jet it might have proved impossible.

As Appa dipped into the ravine where the Air Temple hung, down past the rocky overhang and the dangling tiers of pagodas, Zuko forced himself breathe. _He's not going to be there. He didn't come._

The wide, stone porch of the temple came into view, and even from this distance Zuko could see it was unusually crowded. Moments later, he was close enough to make out individuals.

Aang and Iroh…Teo in his wheeled chair…Jeong Jeong and Piandao…a man that looked familiar but whom Zuko didn't quite recognize…and, finally, the smaller form of Xiao Si Wang.

Appa landed gently on the ledge, and this close there was no mistaking it. He hadn't missed anyone.

He felt the high of anticipation drain away, leaving a cold, empty feeling in his chest. Only then did he realize how utterly he'd failed to trick himself into lowered expectations. Days of imagined disappointment were nothing to the final blow of reality.

He climbed down from Appa's saddle in a haze, numb to the excited conversation around him. He knew that he should go over and greet the new arrivals, begin to explain what had happened at the Boiling Rock and why an airship full of prisoners would be joining them within the hour, and make some attempt at pretending he wasn't pathetically crushed by his own unreasonable hopes. It would be stupid and self-indulgent of him to wallow, instead of distracting himself with friends and the news they'd brought. But though he stood there dutifully and waited for Aang or his uncle to drag him to wherever he was supposed to be, he was already preoccupied with fantasies of his own room, and the door that would shut out all of this until he was ready to deal with it again.

Eventually he'd want to ask about what Jet was up to, but not yet. He suspected that if he went over there, they'd tell him whether he wanted to hear it or not. So he watched from this safe distance with half-hearted interest, idly pulling small tangles out of Appa's fur. He almost missed the echoing sound of voices from the rear of the porch, where one of the temple's many underground corridors emerged from the rock face. Even this late in the day, the contrast between sun and shadow was too great for him to see anything past the doorway.

He looked out of a lack of anything more compelling to pay attention to, realizing as he did that The Duke was missing from the crowd on the porch. On cue, the boy stepped out into the warm, afternoon light. He was jogging to keep up with longer-legged strides, grinning and talking animatedly to the three figures beside him.

In private respites of self-indulgence, when he was too exhausted to pretend at accepting inevitable misery, Zuko had imagined detailed scenarios for how this moment would play out. In many of them, he would say something clever and understated, the true meaning of which only Jet would understand. He'd maintain an outward dignity, of course, but maybe reach out to take Jet's hand, silently promising much more once they were alone. Or Jet would smile and say, "You're even cuter than I remember," and Zuko would mutter something in embarrassment but inwardly be pleased.

None of his secret narratives had involved a flat-out run across the open-air porch, still dressed in prison robes that smelled of sweat and sulfur and almost knocking over poor Xiao Si Wang in his eagerness. He'd never imagined colliding with Jet at full-speed, such that both of them were thrown completely off-balance and hit the ground with a grunt as all the air was knocked out of them. Nor had he anticipated that once they'd disentangled themselves and gotten to their feet, Jet would hold Zuko's head in both of his hands and kiss him, long and hungry, in front of everyone; or that, when Jet finally pulled away, the corners of his eyes would be wet.

"I missed you," he said.

Zuko reached up to brush his fingers against Jet's forehead, pushing the hair out of his eyes. "You're here," he said stupidly.

Jet smiled. "Of course."

"We got here about an hour ago," said Smellerbee, whom Zuko had only barely noticed. "The Duke wanted to show us around."

"Sorry I wasn't there when you got back," said Jet. He kissed Zuko again, more chastely this time. "I brought your knife."

Zuko chuckled a little as Jet handed it to him. With everything else, he'd almost forgotten about it. "Thanks for keeping it safe for me," he said, tucking it into his own belt.

"No problem," said Jet. Then he looked past Zuko's shoulder, and the corners of his mouth fell very slightly. "I guess this was going to happen eventually…"

"Jet." Katara's voice was unexpectedly close, and Zuko half-turned so that he could see her and Jet at once. She stood with her arms crossed, her mouth compressed into a tight little frown.

"Katara," said Jet quietly. "Been a while."

"Yeah."

He gestured to his friends. "You remember Longshot and Smellerbee, right?"

"Sure." She nodded to them, a little stiffly. "Hello."

"Hey," said Smellerbee. Longshot inclined his head.

Katara refocused on Jet, the frown even more severe. "The last time I saw you," she said, "You almost killed a lot of people."

"I know," said Jet.

"Including Aang."

"I know." He rubbed the back of his neck. "But that's not how things are anymore."

"Because you say so?"

"Because they aren't."

Katara scowled at him for another few seconds, as if trying to see through his skull to whatever lay inside. Then, unexpectedly, she turned to Zuko. "You believe him?"

Zuko blinked. "Um…yeah. I mean, yes. I do."

Katara sighed, relaxing by a fraction. "All right." She turned, then, and started back toward where the others were standing. "Come on," she said as she walked. "We're figuring out what to do with the Siguo prisoners."

Jet turned to Zuko, one eyebrow raised. "Prisoners?"

"A lot's happened," said Zuko. He reached out to take Jet's hand.

oOo

Jet hadn't expected the first day to be easy. To begin with, it had been weeks since he'd seen Zuko, and the time between his arrival and anything like privacy would unavoidably be a kind of torture. It would also be spent in the company of the Avatar and his friends, on whom Jet had made a pretty disastrous first impression, to the point where they'd once specifically instructed their allies not to talk to him. The former Captain Chen of the Dai Li's sixth devision had accompanied the party from the Earth Kingdom, and Jet had every reason to believe that a traitor who'd allied with the occupying forces would be more readily accepted than himself — not a particularly encouraging thought.

Smellerbee and Longshot had stood quietly beside him as he mumbled his way through greeting Aang, who regarded Jet with a nervousness that made him feel like an ass, mostly because he knew it was entirely justified. Iroh had seemed genuinely glad to see him, inquiring after the comfort of his voyage and the health of his friends from the Jasmine Dragon days. But when The Duke had come running from one of the pagodas and unleashed a flood of questions and excited chatter, Jet had felt profoundly relieved. A tour around the temple with his old friends was preferable to making stilted conversation, although even that was marred by the question of what Katara would do to him when she got back.

Unsurprisingly, she had watched with steel-eyed wariness as Zuko bounded across the temple porch. And she had been icily curt when Jet greeted her, arms crossed over her chest and blue eyes daring him to try something. But aside from a muttered comment to her brother about "deserving each other," she hadn't been particularly unpleasant, and any urge she might have had to freeze him to one of the stone columns had so far been denied.

Once it was clear there wasn't going to be trouble, Aang had warmed to him considerably, and even Sokka — who had never liked Jet to begin with — had eased up on the suspicious glances after the first hour or so. Later, Zuko had offered an explanation — his own judgement was laughably biased, of course, but Iroh, Piandao and Jeong Jeong and had also testified as to Jet's good character, and after that the matter had been settled.

It had been strange and not a little uncomfortable to stand and chat about what to do with the Boiling Rock prisoners, as if they were all old friends with uncomplicated histories. No one had questioned Jet's support of a group of Firebender dissidents he'd never met, or suggested that he'd have the slightest objection to working with them. He understood that this inclusiveness was meant to put him at ease, but the unquestioning trust of his intentions made him feel like a fraud. In truth, a part of him still hated the idea of welcoming yet more Fire Nation men into his circle of confidence, particularly these sheltered "revolutionaries" who'd never even been to the colonies, or ever met an Earth Kingdom native who wasn't a slave or a prisoner. The Western Air temple was hidden, but hardly impenetrable to a country armed with war balloons. Even if most of the prisoners were sincere, it would take only one traitor to bring the Fire Lord's army down on their heads.

But that discomfort was nothing to what followed, when the stolen airship finally arrived and the prisoners disembarked. Jet had grown used to a fair amount of deference from the members of the Siguo, particularly the younger recruits. But they had been soldiers who'd served with him in the field, traveled and lived alongside of him and seen for themselves what kind of man he was. These men knew Jet only by reputation, and a distorted version of it at that, but the reverence with which they treated him outstripped anything he'd experienced. Not even the runners, who'd so often followed him around the Jasmine Dragon in hopes of catching his eye, had regarded him with such obvious and ardent admiration.

In the forest, he'd spent years learning to cultivate blind devotion — Freedom Fighters who never asked questions, and went unflinchingly to their deaths if he asked it of them. He could remember having enjoyed that feeling. Now, it mostly just made him ill. Coming from Earth Kingdom men, it would have been awkward enough; from Firebenders, it was almost intolerable.

Jet therefore spent the better part of the evening using Zuko as a conversational shield, deflecting talk of the Siguo's accomplishments, offering stilted thanks to the prisoners for their loyalty, and otherwise saying very little. He understood how important these men could prove to be once the comet came, when for a few hours the only defense against one Firebender would be another. He wouldn't be so shortsighted as to turn them away. But when they left to hide the airship in the forest above the ridge he was glad to see them gone.

As was Zuko, it seemed, although for different reasons. Once the airship and its passengers had risen up and out of sight, his shoulders fell as he quietly sighed in relief. "Finally."

Jet smiled a little, willfully shoving aside his musings on politics to concentrate on more pleasant matters, like the way Zuko's waist felt as he curled his arm around it. "Long day?"

"I started it in a prison cell," said Zuko, with the same tone one might use to discuss the weather. "Then I saw my sister for the first time in a year, and she tried to kill me."

"Again?" Jet asked, following his lead.

"Then I had to fight my way out of the middle of a boiling lake. And then I had to act like royalty for the rest of the afternoon without saying anything stupid."

"That's rough."

Zuko turned to meet Jet's gaze, his own a little hungry. "We don't need to be here anymore, do we?"

Jet's mouth curled into a wider grin. "No. Don't think we do."

He laughed as Zuko took his hand, the grip firm enough to hurt very slightly. "Uncle, I'm going to show Jet his room."

"He can just pick whatever room he wants," said Sokka, still close enough to overhear. "Mostly we end up sleeping out here anyway."

"I could take him," said The Duke. "I've seen more of the temple than _anyone_. I'm kind of an expert," he added, with affected nonchalance.

"Yeah, and I wanted to show you this great new move I invented!" said Aang. "I call it the 'Hot Squat Hop and Stop.' See you hop up from the squat…and then you _stop_ your opponent."

Zuko fixed his uncle with an intense gaze, one which silently pleaded for intervention. "Um…" he said, then swallowed. Jet tried to keep his expression neutral, though he doubted his success. Smellerbee, who had barely spoken since they'd arrived, now eloquently rolled her eyes for Longshot's benefit. He nodded back, a shadow of a smile on his lips.

"Perhaps Prince Zuko would like a chance to speak privately with his friend," said Iroh mildly.

"Yes," said Zuko. "Talking. Sure."

"We'll be back in a little while," said Jet, already in motion as Zuko half-dragged him away.

Minutes later, they stepped out of daylight and into temple corridors. The cool, dim interior enveloped them, ancient and serene in a way that reminded Jet of the forest and which soothed the frayed edges of his nerves, enough to allow him to appreciate his situation: alone with Zuko for the first time since he had left Ba Sing Se.

As they ascended the hanging pagodas' narrow stairways, Jet was aware of every point of contact between their hands; the warmth of Zuko's skin, and the blunt points of his knuckles; the rasp of his breath, familiar in the urgency it betrayed; the shape of Zuko's body, revealed in the places his clothes pulled tight. Jet stopped mid-stride just shy of the landing, thoughts of Zuko's mouth on his coursing through him with electric insistence. The other boy, who had been pulling Jet forward at a near run, now turned to gape at him with a wide-eyed look that asked what could possibly be more important than reaching their bedroom.

He grunted softly as Jet pushed him against the wall, and had time for half a syllable of protest before Jet kissed him with the teeth-clicking, lip-bruising, breathless hunger of too many days apart.

Zuko moaned as Jet reached down between them, long fingers sliding between the layers of his tunic. No point in wasting time. "What if someone…"

Jet's fingertips brushed a hot, hard bulge that strained against soft cotton. "Don't care."

"This is ridiculous…" Zuko muttered, although he made no effort to stop Jet from pushing his trousers down over his hips.

"It is," Jet agreed. "Ridiculously fucking overdue."

Zuko leaned back, his face turned up toward the ceiling as Jet licked and nipped the length of his neck. "You're here," he murmured, hoarse and eager.

Jet pressed his face to Zuko's neck and breathed the scent of his skin. "Of course."

oOo

Unsurprisingly, Toph was the first to notice them as they walked across the temple's porch. "How'd your important secret meeting go?" she asked. "Other than loudly."

Toph, Suki, Sokka, Katara and Aang were seated in a half-circle around the campfire, the others having presumably gone to bed. They faced the canyon and the sky beyond, but neither could be seen with the flames so bright and close. Beyond the porch and columns, the world dissolved into pitch black emptiness.

Zuko choked a little, but Jet answered with a smooth, "Just fine. We worked a few things out."

"Oh, I'm sure you did," said Suki.

"Mind if we join you?" asked Jet.

Aang scooted over a little, although there was no real need to make room. "You missed roasting chestnuts."

"I think he had something else keeping him warm," Sokka drawled suggestively, prompting a jab in the arm from Toph. "_What_? You were doing it!"

"Gotta keep it a little more subtle than that, Chuckles. You'll offend Katara's delicate sensibilities."

Katara frowned. "Hey!"

"There's an art to these things," Suki agreed.

Zuko's cheeks were burning as he sat cross-legged on the ground between Jet and Aang, but the younger boy was either honestly oblivious or making a cheerful show of it.

Jet, of course, was wholly unconcerned. "So what did we miss?" he asked as he draped a casual arm around Zuko's waist.

"Not much," said Aang. "Lots of talking. Comet stuff. Whatever." He shrugged. "Hey, you know, there's a really great swimming hole a couple miles from here. Maybe tomorrow we can-"

"Aang, I know you don't want to think about it," said Katara, with an exasperation Zuko guessed was carried over from an earlier conversation. "But we only have a few weeks before the comet gets here. We need to figure out what we're going to do."

"Wait, didn't we settle that already?" asked Zuko, marginally more comfortable now that the subject had shifted away from himself. "Aang defeats my…the Fire Lord before the comet comes. I deal with Azula. We install peacekeeping forces and set up a new government."

"No big," said Sokka.

"That _is_ what the order said they wanted to do," said Katara. "But…"

Aang fidgeted, his eyes on his hands. "I was kind of…thinking we should just wait until after the comet comes. Actually," he said.

"Wait to _what_?" asked Zuko, suspicious.

Aang hunched down even further. "Fight…the Fire Lord…?"

Zuko stared at him for several seconds. "You're kidding."

Aang rubbed the back of his head, looking sheepish.

"Well, I'm glad you decided to tell us you're not planning to save the world anymore," said Sokka. "That's good to know."

"I didn't say I won't fight him at all," said Aang defensively. "Just…maybe not right away."

"Well, you know, that's fine," said Sokka. "No rush. It's not like he's _totally evil and trying to take over the world_ or anything."

"Look, I'm just not ready, okay? I need more time to work on my Firebending. I mean, I've only had a few weeks…he'll kill me if I try and fight him now."

"Aang," Katara began.

"And besides, after the comet the Fire Lord won't be expecting anything, right? I could take him by surprise!"

"Aang," Katara said again, her tone much gentler now. "I understand why you're nervous…but I don't know if we can afford to wait much longer."

"We can't," said Zuko. "When the comet comes, he'll use it to do as much damage as he can."

"The Siguo's gained a lot of ground since the Day of Black Sun," said Jet. "But we're only just hanging onto it. We can't risk giving Ozai a chance to take it back."

"The Earth Kingdom's been at war for a century," said Suki. "Even with the Siguo helping out, the Earth King's armies are stretched really thin. Why do you think we had to go and help out with security at Full Moon Bay? And that was _before_ Ba Sing Se fell."

"We have to stop him now," said Zuko. "It's just going to keep getting worse until we do."

"That's easy for you to say," Aang snapped. "You're not the one who has to fight him."

Katara shook her head. "I don't understand…you've been getting ready to fight the Fire Lord for a year. But now it sounds like you don't want to do it at all."

"Of course I want to! But I _can't_."

"Aang, I think you're selling yourself a little short," said Sokka. "You've been training really hard, and seriously…you're the Avatar. You can take him out."

"See, and that's the other thing," said Aang. "Whenever the White Lotus guys talk about this, there's always a big list of stuff that'll have to happen after the Fire Lord's dead. Like how they'll have to fortify the capital, so when the comet comes some general can't try and take it for himself."

"Sounds good to me," said Sokka.

"Yeah, except for the part where Fire Lord Ozai's dead and _I'm_ the one who's supposed to kill him!"

"Aang, I don't mean to be a jerk about this," said Sokka, "but what did you expect? That you'd just sit down and talk it out, and he'd realize he'd made a horrible mistake?"

"Maybe…"

"Yeah, well that's not how it works," said Zuko quietly. "Even if you managed to put him in prison, he's one of the most powerful Firebenders in the world. He'd find a way out. Or someone else would help him. He's not as unpopular as my Uncle wants everyone to think. You've been in the Fire Nation for months, Aang, you now how people talk about him."

"I know, but…" Aang ran a hand back over his head, following the line of his tattoo. "I'm a monk. It goes against everything I believe in to take another life."

"You've killed before," said Jet flatly.

Katara glared at him, her hand moving to rest protectively on Aang's forearm. "What do you-"

"I heard about what happened at the North Pole."

A haunted look passed over Aang's features. "That was different," he said. "That wasn't me."

"Why, because the Avatar Spirit made you do it?" Jet snorted. "What if I said my lousy childhood made me flood that village? Would that've made it okay?"

"Stop badgering him, Jet," Katara snapped. "You wouldn't understand what it's like not to want to hurt someone."

Jet didn't look at her, but Zuko could feel him tense. "I get that you don't want to kill him," said Jet. "I get that just because it's happened before doesn't mean you want to go through it again. But sometimes we have to do shit we don't want to."

Aang curled up with his knees against his chest, Katara's hand shifting to his back. "I don't think I can."

"Well, you're going to have to," said Zuko.

"Why don't _you_ do it, then?" said Katara.

Aang sighed. "Katara, you know what Iroh said. If Zuko kills him, history's just going to see it as senseless violence. 'A son killing his father to grab power.'" He swallowed, hugging his knees even tighter. "I know I have to fight him…I just don't know how."

"Or when," said Sokka.

Katara shifted a little closer to Aang, her arm sliding across his shoulders. "Maybe Aang's right," she said to her brother. "Even if we did stop the Fire Lord, we'll never be able to deal with all the Firebenders in the Earth Kingdom before the comet comes. Maybe it would be better to wait until Aang's ready. I mean, if something happened to him…" she trailed off, but Zuko understood what she meant. Losing Aang would be terrible. Losing the Avatar would turn the tide of the war.

"Maybe," said Sokka. "But I'm worried that-"

"Wait," said Toph, holding up one hand. Her face, which had been neutrally thoughtful while she listened to their conversation, was now alert and serious as she turned it toward the darkness. "Someone's coming down the path."

"Who?" Katara hissed.

"Shut up and maybe I can tell." Toph lay her palms flat on the ground, her brows knit as she concentrated. "Three people. One of them's Wang..."

"Must've gone on patrol," Jet murmured.

Sokka leaned forward. "And?"

"Two girls. They seem familiar, but…can't quite put my finger on it…"

Soon, the footsteps on the rocky path were loud enough for Zuko to hear — three sets, just as Toph had said, with no attempt at stealth. All of them stared into the night, breath quiet and bodies still. Zuko made a small gesture, and the smoldering campfire brightened, pushing back the darkness.

Toph's hand shifted on the ground, as if adjusting the focus of her bending. "Oh man…" she murmured.

But by then, there was no need to explain. Xiao Si Wang had stepped into the light, swords sheathed but stance rigid and wary. "They asked for Zuko," she said.

Behind her were two figures in dark robes, their hoods drawn up and their faces shadowed. The tallest raised a slim, gloved hand and pushed back her hood.

Zuko got to his feet, his heart quickening. "Mai," he said. "What're you-"

"Azula's coming," said Mai, cutting him off.

By then the others had stood as well. "When?" asked Sokka.

"Dawn," said Mai. "Maybe earlier, if she notices we're gone."

Katara's hand moved to the water skein at her hip. "Why are you telling us this?"

Mai puffed out an impatient sigh. "We don't have time for-"

"They're going to burn the Earth Kingdom," said Ty Lee, her voice emerging from the hood.

"What?" Jet croaked.

But Ty Lee was focused on Zuko, and drew back her own hood as she took another step toward him. "Remember what she said? At the Boiling Rock?"

Zuko swallowed. "She won't really-"

"She will," said Mai. "When the comet comes, the Fire Lord will take a fleet of airships to the Earth Kingdom. And he'll burn as much of it as he can."

"How can you expect us to trust you?" asked Suki, her face hard with skepticism. "You put my girls in prison. You helped Azula take Ba Sing Se. Why the change of heart?"

"We're at war," said Mai tonelessly. "Taking prisoners and conquering cities is one thing. This is different."

"When Azula told us, we knew we'd have to do something," said Ty Lee. "Then we saw you at the Boiling Rock, Zuko."

"Did you mean what you said?" asked Mai. "Do you actually still care about what's best for the Fire Nation?"

"Of course," said Zuko.

"Then let us help you."

Zuko turned to Aang, who had listened to all of this with his brow furrowed.

"Aang," said Zuko quietly. "What do you think?"

Aang looked between Ty Lee and Mai, examining their faces in turn. "Wake everyone up," he said, bending down to pick up his staff. "I'll go tell the prisoners to get the airship ready. We'll leave in an hour." The wings of his glider snapped open with a puff of wind, and he turned to the two girls once more. "Stay with Zuko. If you try anything, we'll leave you behind."

He took a few, quick strides and leapt off the edge of the temple porch, sweeping off into the dark ravine.

Zuko reached out and found Jet's hand with his own. The other boy's palm was hot and slick with sweat.

oOoOoOo

"I don't like this," said Katara, cross-legged on the floor of a canvas tent. "We should wait for Aang to get back."

"Avatar Aang already knows what part he will play tomorrow," said Iroh. "And he knows that we are counting on him. He will be waiting on Crescent Island before the Fire Lord and his fleet pass overhead."

"But we don't even know where he is," Katara pressed. "Maybe he's hurt…or lost! Or maybe he's in the Spirit World again! We should be looking for him, before-"

"We've asked him to sacrifice a great deal to fight for all of our freedom," said Piandao, somehow managing dignity despite the trickle of sweat on his temple. "The least we can offer in return is a chance to make peace with himself."

Jet stifled a yawn and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. He had said very little since this meeting had started an hour ago. Not because of a lack of interest — Aang had grown on him in the last few weeks, and he was as worried about the kid as anyone else — but because he had never been this goddamn hot for this many days in his life.

He understood why they were here, and couldn't really complain given the circumstances. Azula had found their last camp with scouts and good guesses — in retrospect, of course she would have looked for Aang at the closest Airbender temple. Leaving under the cover of darkness with next to no time to prepare, they had been forced to choose a new hiding place they could reach before dawn, where they couldn't be seen from the air and which Azula wouldn't immediately think to search.

Thus had they ended up in the dense jungle at the fringes of the Sun Warrior ruins, their tents and dismantled airships hidden beneath the lush canopy of leaves and tangled vines. After half a month of sweltering days followed by infinite, airless nights, Jet's energy and patience were both in short supply. But he was no stranger to poor sleep and discomfort, and at least they had the Sun Warriors' help with keeping their stomachs full.

He bit the inside of his cheek and tried to pay attention.

"With our new allies from the Boiling Rock helping us, our numbers in the capital will be larger than we'd counted on," Hakoda was saying. "If we're smart about it, we should be able to overtake the Imperial forces without too many people getting caught in the crossfire."

"I'm more worried about those air ships," said Sokka, leaning forward to peer at the map laid out at the center of their circle. "We're _sure_ that's where Ozai's gonna be?"

"Our intelligence has confirmed most of what the two defectors have told us," said Chen. "The Fire Lord plans to lead the airship fleet himself and participate in the assault. He will leave the palace bunker approximately four hours before the comet's arrival, and the fleet will reach Crescent Island two hours after their departure from the capital. That should allow the Avatar sufficient time to engage him, as well as provide a window for our own forces to move into the caldera before the effects of the comet bolster Fire Nation defenses. This should help minimize civilian casualties, as discussed. However, the princess' agenda remains uncertain."

"She'll be on one of the airships," said Zuko quietly. "Razing the Earth Kingdom was her idea. She'll want to see it for herself."

"Aang's going to have his hands full just trying to fight Ozai," said Sokka. "We'll need someone else to keep Azula busy while my team disables the airships."

"I'll do it," said Zuko.

"Not by yourself," sad Jet, speaking for the first time in an hour.

Zuko shook his head. "She's my responsibility. I can handle her. "

"Last time we fought Azula, Aang almost died," said Katara. "I'm coming with you."

"Katara-"

"Pakku brought another vial of water from the Spirit Oasis. That's what saved Aang, but I have to be there to use it." She reached up to finger the leather cord it hung from, tied around her neck. "Besides," she added darkly. "I owe her."

"So do I," said Jet. "I told the Siguo she'd pay for what she did. Don't make a liar out of me."

"This is not a mission of vengeance," said Iroh. "What we do tomorrow will be in the name of peace. Not retribution."

"Call it justice, then," sad Jet. "I don't care. Just let me be there to make it happen."

"I have been told of your battle with General Zha," said Jeong Jeong, "and I do not mean to diminish that triumph. But Princess Azula is one of the most powerful Firebenders alive. Swords and quick thinking will not stop a bolt of lightning, and only a Firebender can learn to redirect it."

"Would you say the same to me?" asked Piandao.

"_You_ are a master. _He_ is a boy."

"And I've been fighting Firebenders since I was eight," said Jet. "Besides. I won't be alone. Zuko and I know how to watch each other's backs." He turned to Zuko, flashing a lopsided grin. "Right?"

Zuko licked his lips. "Actually…" His throat moved as he swallowed. "I'm not so sure you should go."

Jet blinked at him. "What?" he asked with an uncertain chuckle. "Why not?"

"I just…don't think it's a good idea."

Jet felt heat rise to his face as he looked around the informal council they'd assembled. No one moved to argue with Zuko. _Of course not,_ Jet thought to himself, the nauseating weight of embarrassment settling into his stomach. _He's the only reason you're here at all._

"You know, I told Smellerbee and Longshot I'd help them get their gear together for the raid on the airships," he said as he got to his feet, his affect as casual as he could convincingly manage. "Lemme know what you guys decide on everything else, all right?"

He slipped through the door of the tent before anyone could reply. A handful of the Boiling Rock prisoners were hovering outside, likely waiting their turn to speak to Zuko. Jet nodded to them but didn't meet their eyes, his shoulders hunched as he pushed his way into the underbrush.

The air wasn't any cooler out here than it was inside, although at least he could feel a hint of breeze coming from the brook a short way away. Their camp had been erected in the densest part of the jungle, tents built around tree trunks and in the hollows of vast root systems. They had tied long ropes between the trees to guide them at night, or to keep them from getting lost in the daytime when they moved out of sight of camp. Within a few strides, Jet could no longer see patches of canvas through the undergrowth.

At home, he would have pulled himself up onto a low-hanging branch and listened to the wind in the leaves for a while. But the canopy of this forest was too high to easily reach, and the air stuck to him like a second skin, dense with a cacophony of insects and birds and the small, quick panther monkeys that lived in this part of the jungle.

He was perched on the trunk of a fallen tree, watching a line of ants progress along its bark, when he heard Zuko call for him. Just then, he didn't particularly want to answer, but he supposed that Zuko would pin him down soon enough regardless. With years of tracking the Avatar behind him, Zuko had a knack for finding people that bordered on the supernatural.

"Here," said Jet, just loud enough to cut through the din. He didn't look up as Zuko picked his way through the brush and settled down onto the log beside him.

"I don't think this is where they keep their gear," said Zuko quietly.

"Yeah, well, you caught me."

He felt Zuko's hand on his back, the same touch that had comforted him so often that summer. Now he shrugged it off, tense with unfocused irritation. "I shouldn't have come," said Jet.

"Don't be-"

"No one wants me to be here," said Jet, embarrassed at his own petulance but unable to stop himself, sitting in this jungle where he so obviously didn't belong. "No one wants my help. Not even you."

Zuko frowned. "Jet…"

"It's fine," said Jet with a fierce stab at indifference. "I get it. You don't think I can handle her. Whatever."

"No. You don't understand," said Zuko. There was a quiet, frightened urgency to his tone. "You don't know what she's like. It'll be bad enough having Katara there…Jet, she'd go after you just to get to me. And I can't…" Zuko reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I wouldn't be able to help myself. I'd do anything."

"You would for anyone," said Jet.

"It's not the same."

Jet remembered the look on Zuko's face under Lake Laogai, when Ping had told him there wasn't time and they would have to leave Jet behind. There had been no considered decision; no careful weighing of options. In that instant, Zuko had thrown away the life he'd built, exposed all the lies he'd told and begged the vengeance of those he'd told them to, rather than risk whatever the Dai Li might do to the boy he loved.

Jet bowed his head, his hands folded over the nape of his neck. He could still feel the too-smooth skin where the burns had healed over. "I shouldn't be here," he said again.

"I need you."

"Right."

"I do," said Zuko, stubbornly insistent.

"What am I supposed to do, then? Join the airship team? Peacekeeping in the capital?" Jet sniffed. "You don't need me for any of that."

Zuko looked down at his hands, palms turned up to catch what sunlight managed to filter through the leaves. "Look, Jet…even if we actually manage to take back the capital tomorrow, there's no telling how bad things will get," he said. "If the peacekeeping forces can't reach the palace before the comet arrives, a lot of people could get hurt. Hundreds of servants live there, and it's not like any of this is their fault."

Jet grunted in acknowledgment, his eyes carefully focused on his boots.

"I want to send a small team to evacuate the palace staff and secure the grounds," said Zuko. "Mai and Ty Lee know the layout better than anyone — they were there a few weeks ago, and there's only so much Azula could've changed since then. But we can't send them in alone. We barely trust them enough to sleep in our camp."

"All right."

"Then there's the seven Dai Li my sister brought back with her. Chang wants to be there to fight them, but…look, I know he's done a lot for the Siguo-"

"No, you're right," said Jet. He sighed, relaxing a little into the familiar rhythm of logistics. "Smellerbee and Longshot should stay on the airship team. They're good with heights, they've done a lot of sabotage on Fire Nation equipment. Keep their heads."

"Sure."

Jet rubbed his eyes, hard enough to hurt a little. "Fuck, I wish Ping was here."

"I know," said Zuko.

This time, when Jet felt Zuko's hand on his back, he leaned into the touch. "Chang and Xiao Si Wang really clicked on the way over here," he said. "He says she reminds him of his little sister from back home, before Long Feng took him away. He's from the plains, did you know that?"

"No. Huh."

"If she comes, he'll behave," said Jet. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, contemplative. "Who else…"

"The Duke?"

"He'll go with Teo. Help him run the transports."

"What about Haru?"

"Mustache?" Jet smiled a little, remembering a rooftop conversation from what felt like another life. "How good is he, anyway?"

"Good."

"Ping good?"

"Ni Shui Jian good. And Ty Lee likes him."

Jet snorted. "She likes everyone."

"Jet…"

"I can handle her. And Mai. You don't need to worry about me."

He tried to sound confident, not wanting Zuko to worry any more than was unavoidable, but in truth he felt anything but. He had no idea what the Fire Nation capital looked like, beyond the barest details gleaned from conversation. He imagined the palace as a sweltering temple to imperial might, all sharp angles and dark corridors and gaudily patriotic decor in red and gold. No less alien a landscape than this forest, and far more dangerous.

Despite the dripping jungle heat, Jet pressed closer to the other boy. "Can she really bend lightning?" he asked, very soft.

Zuko's arm slid around Jet's shoulders, and he felt warm breath against his hair. "Uncle taught me how to redirect it," Zuko murmured. He kissed Jet's forehead. "I'll be fine."

Jet closed his eyes. "You might have to kill her. You know that, right?"

"I know."

They sat together that way for some time, listening to the forest, until the light dimmed.

oOo

Katara was waiting for them when they returned to the camp. She stood outside the small tent they shared with Longshot, Smellerbee and Xiao Si Wang, her face drawn with worry. "Where have you been?"

"Just needed to talk about a few things." said Jet.

"Sorry," said Zuko.

"A hawk came from Fat while you were gone," said Katara.

Jet arched an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Piandao's butler. He's been keeping an eye on the capital for us," said Zuko. He looked back to Katara, frowning. "What happened?"

"Ozai's lost it," she said. Jet could hear the panic in her voice, now. "He's started calling himself the 'Phoenix King'-"

"The _what_?" asked Jet, his nose wrinkled.

"Look, I don't know," Katara snapped, although Jet could tell she was more afraid than angry. "He crowned himself this afternoon."

"What about Azula?" asked Zuko quietly.

Katara hesitated, her hand coming up to tug at a lock of her hair. "Zuko…"

"Just tell me."

Katara sighed and shook her head. "He made her Fire Lord," she said. "The coronation's tomorrow."

oOo

Jet lay on a thin, damp mattress on the floor of a musty tent, his bare skin slick with sweat and his ears full of the sound of insects and night birds, alone with the suffocating darkness. A few hours before, he had watched Zuko and Katara disappear into the forest, lead by one of the Sun Warriors toward the ruins of their city. An hour from now, before the sun rose, he would climb aboard Aang's bison, along with the team he'd chosen, and set out for the Fire Nation capital. Not to strike at the heart of the empire which had taken so much from him; which had orphaned a boy in the forest and turned him into a killer; which had burned and beaten and raped and enslaved his country and his people. Not to exact the revenge that he had hungered for since the night he'd watched his village burn. But to save Fire Nation lives from the careless cruelty of their own sovereign.

Jet stared into the blackness above him and laughed, desperate and breathless, until his stomach arched and his lungs burned, gasping for air like a drowning man.

oOo

Zuko held his scrap of fire cupped in both hands, arms extended and head bowed just as Chief Wuruk had shown him. He had taken it from the Eternal Flame and carried it up the mountainside and the great stone staircase, just as he had weeks ago when Uncle had first brought him to this place. Only now he stood alone on the narrow walkway between the masters' caves, and the favor he had come to ask was far greater than a brief moment of insight, however profound. It had cost Ran and Shao very little to share the truth of their art with him, but this request was of another order entirely. This could easily get one of them killed.

He felt the roar before he heard it, vibrating through the stone walkway. It reached his ears as a cool breeze stirred his hair, forced up from the depths of the caverns. His body tensed in anticipation, but he kept his hands outstretched, concentrating on the flame. He wouldn't lose it this time.

Master Ran erupted from the mouth of his cave, his enormous head glimpsed for only a moment before it roared past, the coils of his body flowing past Zuko like a river of fire. Another blast of wind buffeted him from behind, and a second current of scales joined the first, twin streams of red and blue that glittered in the dawn light.

Below him on the platform, he could hear Katara's alarmed voice calling his name.

oOoOoOo

Glimpses of a persimmon sky could be seen through the palace windows, a streak of light just visible above the eastern battlements: the comet, burning with white-hot malevolence as it tore across the midmorning horizon. Jet had been told what to expect, but in hindsight the explanations seemed laughable. No words could have prepared him for how this would feel. The air itself was on fire.

"I thought we were trying to do this _before_ the comet came," he'd grunted as they'd scaled the far slope of the caldera, through the same blind spot between the guard towers that Mai and Ty Lee had used on the night they'd left the palace.

"It's like the eclipse," Mai had said. "It doesn't just happen all at once."

Wang had paused in her climb to peer up at the sky, then eerily tinged with yellow as what looked like a second sunrise broke over the ocean. "How do we know when it's time?" she'd asked quietly.

"When you can hear it," Ty Lee had replied, disconcertingly sober.

With Azula's coronation so close at hand, Jet had expected the halls of the palace to be a whirlwind of activity. Even the Freedom Fighter's triumphant parade through Ba Sing Se, mere days after the end of a devastating occupation, had required dozens of hastily conscripted attendants. This was the Fire Nation capital near the peak of its power, its palace glutted with the spoils of a hundred years of war, about to crown a new monarch on the morn of its fiery dispatch of the continent.

But they had found the palace halls abandoned, the expected Imperial Firebenders missing from their posts. The living quarters of the servants they had come to protect showed signs of hasty departure, clothes scattered and emptied drawers left open. Muttering something about auras, Ty Lee had found a young attendant hiding in a wardrobe, a small bag of her possessions clutched to her chest. "I have to go," she'd said, her face hidden in her hands. "She'll kill me if she finds me here."

"What happened?" Ty Lee had asked gently, her smile at its most disarming. "Where is everybody?"

"Banished," the girl had whispered.

Azula had banished her servants that morning. And the guards. And her advisors. All that remained were the handful of Fire Sages who would perform her coronation.

"What about the Dai Li?" Jet had asked, struggling to keep his voice calm.

The girl had shaken her head, tears on her cheeks as she told them she didn't know. But Chang had been certain he did. "They're here," he had said quietly. "Even if she did banish them, they wouldn't leave. They must know what's happened in Ba Sing Se. They have no where else to go."

Now Jet and his group moved through the deserted marble corridors, past the royal portrait gallery and the shrouded entrance to the throne room, down hallways of gilt and lacquered wood and gleaming marble floors, toward the grand courtyard at the heart of the palace. Zuko had once lived here, he knew, but that fact was hard to actually believe. How could this place be a home to anyone?

"This way," said Mai quietly, her footsteps silent beneath her billowing trousers. Jet stayed close behind her as she crept toward a length of heavy brocade, emblazoned with the Fire Nation crest, that hung at the far side of the room. Her thin, white hand reached out to push the edge of it aside. And in a moment that would count among the most surreal in his life, Jet peered through the gap into the courtyard beyond, where Princess Azula knelt before the robed Fire Sages.

Jet watched as the royal coronet was lifted into the air, its golden surface gleaming in the comet's unsettling glow.

Above the rooftops of the outer walls, a sinuous outline wound its way across the sky, two figures seated between its wings.

Then a stone fist hurled toward him from the rafters above, and there was barely enough time to knock it aside with his swords before a dark figure in a wide, flat helmet jumped down in its wake, cracking the stone slabs beneath them with the force of his impact. Jet tried to keep his balance as he leapt hastily backward, swords extended to either side. But Haru was already rushing forward to come to his defense, stopping the second fist in mid-air before it connected with Jet's throat.

A wave of stone shot across the marble, and Jet pushed off from its crest with one foot as Chang swept past him. He landed beside Xiao Si Wang, her own blades flashing as she cut shards of rock from the air, the stray fragments stinging his cheeks. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another Dai Li pull a shield of marble from the floor to catch the handful of daggers Mai had thrown. He looked away completely as he knocked the next wave of projectiles aside, but he could hear the Dai Li's shout of alarm and the thud of a limp body hitting the ground.

_Ty Lee_, Jet thought, grinning even as he rolled to avoid a razor-edged discus of stone. That left five more, by his count.

Jet knew what had happened in the Fire Lord's bunker during the eclipse. He knew they had to keep the Dai Li busy for as long as Zuko needed them to, whatever the cost to themselves. Azula wasn't interested in a "fair fight" any more than Jet would've been in her place, and the Dai Li had every reason to try and win back her favor.

Maddening fragments of sound drifted in from beyond the curtain — a woman's bloodthirsty laugh, the crackling torrent of Firebending, a gasp that might have been Katara, a shout that he knew was Zuko.

In rare moments of silence, he could hear a low rumbling in the eastern sky.

oOo

The power was incredible.

Great torrents of flame poured from Zuko's hands, dwarfing him with their size and baking his skin with their heat. He felt as if a wildfire raged in his chest — a vast reservoir of energy that strained against the inside of his ribs. In the past, the act of bending had felt like the strength of his heart manifested as flame., redirecting the flow of chi within him his body and urging it to heat the air in front of him. There in the courtyard, the effort was not one of creation, but of restraint. Each gesture opened a floodgate, and the boiling mass of fire rushed out of him in a stream so forceful he could barely contain it. His ears rang with the deafening roar of combustion.

Azula made no attempt at control. She threw haphazard waves of fire across the courtyard, blue with deadly heat and wholly indiscriminate. Precision and ruthlessness had always been her strengths, but without the first the second had consumed her. Zuko channeled what he could away from himself, but the excess splashed against the walls, licking at wood and plaster. The palace was on fire, and Azula did not care. He wasn't sure she'd even noticed. Her laugh had a raw, unhinged quality that prickled the back of his neck.

Master Ran had retreated to the rim of the caldera, his silhouette just visible against the red, low-hanging clouds. Katara, whom Zuko had made promise not to interfere, now shook with the effort of self-restraint behind him. Somewhere inside the burning palace walls, Jet and Xiao Si Wang and Mai and Ty Lee and Haru and even Chang were all fighting the Dai Li and Imperial Guards. The people of the capital had watched the lost heir to the throne descend on the back of a dragon no one had thought still existed; Zuko knew that an army of strange men and women — and an army it was, whatever Uncle called it — was now moving through the streets, overpowering imperial guards and telling citizens to stay in their homes until the comet had passed. An entire city was waiting for him to win this Agni Kai. And all of them would suffer if he didn't.

As he and Katara had flown toward the capital, the massive bulk of Master Ran beneath them and the Fire Nation archipelago stretching out toward the horizon, Zuko had finally understood what his purpose would be that day. Far more powerful benders than himself could have fought Azula, if winning were the only thing that mattered. But they had decided he would face her alone, in the palace on the day of her planned coronation. And his triumph would count for more than simply besting his sister in combat; the reward for victory was the crown itself.

Zuko didn't want to die like this, standing in the courtyard of his home after three long years away, finally at the cusp of the destiny he'd chosen for himself. As a boy, he had been burned and banished because of his compassion for his countrymen. He had been too young, then, to stand up against the cruelty of his father. He hadn't known to question the world that Sozin had made, and had had no hope of changing it besides.

He wasn't too young any more. And his people had waited long enough.

"They must be desperate if they sent _you_ here," said Azula, shouting to be heard over the growl of her own bending. "At least Uncle Fatso would've been a challenge. This is just _depressing_."

Another slash of her arms sent an arc of fire toward Zuko's head. He dropped to sweep his leg along the ground, kicking up a defensive wall for her next attack to shatter against.

"Although I suppose you do get some credit for nerve," she went on, her smile crooked and hungry as she conjured a torrent of blue heat. "It must have taken quite a bit of it to show your face here again."

Zuko braced himself, arms half-bent as he redirected the stream of flame, his feet slipping on the granite paving stones. "I had to come," he growled, jaw tight and forehead beaded with sweat. "I had to stop you."

Azula laughed, and Zuko saw the telltale shift in her stance; the change in her hands, all but the first two fingers of each clenched into a fist. "You should've stayed in Ba Sing Se, _Zuzu_," she said, half snarling malice and half manic amusement. She drew circles of crackling energy through the air before her, erratic but no less deadly. Zuko felt his hair stand on end. "Oh, well!" she chirped, bright and sharp as a blade. "Better to die a traitor than a coward."

Fighting every instinct he had, Zuko reached out toward the bolt of jagged, white light, his fingers pointed as hers were, his uncle's words echoing in his memory. A buzzing, prickling numbness coursed down the length of his arm, the muscles tensing into hard knots that resisted every effort to do as he'd been told; to pull the stream down, through his stomach and away from his heart. His gut, already simmering with the heat of the comet, clenched into what felt like a hot block of stone as the lightening passed through it.

Then the flow of his chi pushed it up again, the energy skimming along the outside of his ribs and down his other arm. He released it back into the air with an explosive burst of heat and sound. For an instant, he couldn't see anything past his own hand, the tendons stretched taut beneath his skin.

Silence followed. Zuko blinked, still half-blinded by afterimages, and rubbed at his eyes with the knuckles of his trembling fists. When he looked again, he saw a crumpled figure lying on the ground. At first, he wondered who had gotten in the way — what poor idiot had wandered into the middle of an Agni Kai.

oOo

The Dai Li were the first to notice — clued in, Jet supposed later on, by some trick of their bending. They froze mid-attack, their heads turning as one to face the palace courtyard, the abandonment of offense so sudden that Jet's own men ground to a halt, hesitant in their confusion. All except Chang, whose expression was one of exhausted satisfaction.

"The Princess," one of the Dai Li murmured, barely audible beyond the crackle of burning wood in the middle distance.

Ty Lee's hands flew to her mouth, her gray eyes wide and round. Mai sighed and re-sheathed the daggers in her hand. "Come on," she said as she strode across the antechamber, toward the brocade hanging at the far end. "We should make sure the Fire Sages don't try anything."

Jet glanced at Chang, who said, "I'll manage the Dai Li."

"I'll help," said Xiao Si Wang. Jet offered a tight smile and quick nod, then followed Mai and Ty Lee into the courtyard.

Scorch marks traced paths of combat across the paving stones. Small fires licked at the the elegant rooftops of the long, covered galleries to either side of them, sending black tendrils of smoke up toward the burning clouds. The comet's savage purr seemed to come from the whole of the sky.

Zuko knelt on the ground beside a woman in gilt leather armor. Her sleek hair had come loose of its bindings and now pooled haphazardly around her, a few flyaway strands of it laid across her face. Her skin was bone white. Her chest was perfectly still.

The Fire Sages watched from the palace steps, lines of indecision carved deeply into their ancient countenances. Katara stood to one side, her expression unreadable and her fist clenched over her collarbone.

Ty Lee sunk to her knees at the top of the steps, her hands still at her mouth as she shook her head, her long braid swinging. Mai's features were even stonier than Katara's, her lips set in an unwavering show of indifference. But her fingers moved to rest on Ty Lee's head, and the thrum of her pulse was hummingbee-quick along the side of her slender neck.

Zuko did not look up as Jet crouched at his side. His head was bowed, and this close Jet could see the tears that ran along his nose, leaving dark spots on the brocade of Azula's sleeve. "She's dead," Zuko whispered, hoarse with panic and sorrow. "Jet, she's dead."

Jet had no idea what to say. This woman was the Fire Lord's chosen successor. She had almost destroyed Be Sing Se, and had left what remained in the hands of a merciless occupation. She had masterminded the firestorm that Ozai now hoped to rain down on the Earth Kingdom. Moments ago, she had tried in earnest to destroy the man that Jet loved.

But she was also Zuko's little sister. And the part of Jet that remembered family — the dusty, atrophied part that had once been a village boy, with parents and an infant brother of his own — reached out to pull Zuko into his arms, burying his face in hair that smelled of ozone and smoke.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, and meant it.

The soft scuff of booted footsteps made Jet lift his gaze. He hadn't noticed Katara move before, but now he watched as she knelt at Azula's other side.

For several seconds, Katara stared silently at the other girls' still face, her hand still clasped at her throat.

"I should just let her die," she said.

"Probably," Jet agreed.

"It's what she deserves."

"It is."

Katara looked up at Zuko, whose face was pressed tight against Jet's shoulder. Then she sighed, quick and irritated, as she lifted a leather cord up over her neck, the small glass vial that dangled from it catching glints of red light.

"Dammit," she murmured.

She held the vial in one hand as the other bent its contents out into the air: a glowing tendril of crystalline water which spun in a tight, circular blur above her palm before she lowered it to Azula's chest, at the place where her armor had burned away.

oOoOoOo

"Today, this war is finally over. I promised my Uncle that I would restore the honor of the Fire Nation, and I will. But the road ahead of us will be a challenging one. A hundred years of fighting have left the world scarred and divided.

We've already taken the first steps toward returning to the right path. The Siguo Jundui has been true to its name — an army for all of us. And with the Avatar's help, I believe we can heal the rifts that have separated us for so long. As one people, working together, we'll build a better future. And we'll begin a new era of love and peace."

Zuko knelt, his long robes trailing on the ground, as the oldest of the Fire Sages moved to stand behind him. The sage lifted a shining, golden diadem high in the air. Along with Zuko's clothes, it seemed comically huge — like hand-me-downs he hadn't quite grown into.

Then the sage inserted it into Zuko's topknot, and with it marked the younger man forever.

"All hail Fire Lord Zuko!" the sage cried, and the crowd erupted with cheers. All but Jet, who stared dumbly at the crown as a knot of dread twisted itself up in his stomach.

He stood between Wang, Longshot and Smellerbee, their group a little apart from everyone else. All around him, families and old comrades were reuniting, hugging and thumping each other on the back as they shared news of the parts they had each played yesterday.

Jet hadn't wanted to miss watching Zuko's coronation, but now that the event had passed he didn't much feel like celebrating. He'd spent the last twenty-four hours or so hovering around the edges of court business that didn't concern him, and mostly he just wanted to find a quiet, dark place to go and get some sleep.

"Jet?"

_Shit_, he thought, and looked up in time to see Pipsqueak moving toward him through the crowd, The Duke pointing excitedly from atop his shoulder.

"See, I told you!" The Duke chirped. "I told you, he was at the Air Temple with us!"

"Pipsqueak," said Jet, looking up at the much larger man.

"Jet," Pipsqueak rumbled. "Longshot. Smellerbee."

"Hey," said Smellerbee. Longshot inclined his head.

"Been a while," said Jet.

"It has," Pipsqueak agreed. "Can't say I was expecting to see you here."

"Yeah…" Jet rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes now focused somewhere in the middle of Pipsqueak's chest. "Well, you know. Been a pretty crazy summer."

Pipsqueak frowned slightly. "That's one way of putting it."

"Um…" Jet glanced over at Wang, who looked up from Pipsqueak from her slight stature with a reverence Jet wouldn't have expected. "Are you…one of Jet's Freedom Fighters? From the forest?"

Pipsqueak's thick eyebrows arched. "Sure."

She started to bow, but thought better of it halfway through and instead offered her arm, forming a comically steep angle with the ground. "I'm Xiao Si Wang," she said, high-pitched and warbling. "I'm a Freedom Fighter, too. From Ba Sing Se. I mean…well, I was. I guess now I'm in the Siguo instead, but-"

"We're still Freedom Fighters," said Longshot quietly, making Wang jump. "It's a part of us. That won't change."

Pipsqueak chuckled. "Maybe."

"Wait…does that mean the _Fire Lord_'s a Freedom Fighter?" asked The Duke from his perch, sounding cautiously hopeful.

Smellerbee laughed. "Yeah, I guess when you put it that way, he-"

"That's different," said Jet, the words clipped. The others turned to look at him, five brows wrinkling in concern, which only ruffled him further. He pulled a stalk of grass out of his belt and tucked it into the corner of his mouth, then jammed his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunched up toward his ears. "Look, there's some shit I have to take care of."

Smellerbee pursed her lips in disapproval. "Jet, come on, we're just-"

"You guys have fun catching up," said Jet, turning away from them. "I'll find you later."

He elbowed through a crowd of Earthbenders, not especially caring about any direction but "away." No one called after him, though he imagined he could feel their stares on the back of his head.

Fucking Pipsqueak. Jet remembered listening to that deep, rumbling voice on his last night at home. Pipsqueak had explained, at length, how the Freedom Fighters had no choice; how the flooded town would only bring more Fire Nation, more soldiers, more misery for everyone; how they couldn't afford to let things get any worse; how Jet had gone too far one time too many. "He's gonna get himself killed," Pipsqueak had said. "It's just a matter of when, and how many of us he takes with him."

Jet had always assumed he'd be able to talk his way back into his old friends' good graces; that the village he'd built would welcome him home again, after everything he'd done in Ba Sing Se. But really, who was he kidding? From what The Duke had told him, Pipsqueak had been completely, infuriatingly prescient. The Fire Nation had come. The Freedom Fighters had scattered. All he had to look forward to were more awkward reunions in strange places, where the others would pretend they hadn't thrown him out, and Jet would let them get away with it. Not even he could deny that they'd had every right to.

Jet slouched toward one of the covered walkway that ran alongside the courtyard, carefully staying out sight of anyone who might recognize him until he'd ducked into the shadows beneath the long, tiled roof.

They'd given him a room of his own, but he didn't remember where it was in the labyrinthine palace complex, and didn't particularly want to go there besides. He'd spent the night alone, sitting crosslegged on an enormous silk-draped bed and watching the moonbeams travel across the floor. Zuko had finished overseeing the imprisonment of his sister and father, and then been whisked away to an emergency audience with his advisors which had lasted until dawn.

Two hours before the coronation, Zuko had turned up at Jet's door with a platter of dumplings, a pot of tea and a basket of the necessary porcelain balanced in his arms. They'd shared a brief but private breakfast, during which Zuko had rehearsed his speech several times and demanded Jet give him an honest opinion. ("They'll love it," Jet had said, although he'd felt strangely irritated when the crowd had proved him right later on.)

And now Zuko was Fire Lord, apparently. Jet caught glimpses between the columns of him waving to the crowd, looking serene and somehow regal in his outsized brocade as he stood with Aang at his side.

Jet still wasn't entirely clear on which parts of the palace he was allowed to wander through, but he assumed some guard would kick him out of anywhere he wasn't welcome. He slipped into one of the interior corridors, empty except for a single imperial Firebender who looked annoyed at having to miss the ceremony outside.

All at once, he felt impossibly out of place beneath the vaulted ceiling. At least at the Earth King's palace he's been among his own people, with a job to do and trusted allies all around him. Here, Jet was nothing but a shabby, unwashed trespasser who'd served his purpose and overstayed his welcome.

"You look lost."

Jet stopped, then backed up several steps to the dimly-lit doorway he'd just passed by. As his eyes adjusted, he saw towering shelves of scroll cases that disappeared into the gloom above, illuminated by a small, glass lamp on one of the reading tables. There sat Mai, a teapot beside her and a jade cup held to her lips.

Though not precisely unhappy to see her, Jet wasn't interested in company just then. He scowled a bit and squared his shoulders. "Shouldn't you be off getting trashed with Ty Lee somewhere?"

"She's busy," said Mai. She took a delicate sip from her cup. "Probably trying to win over the Kyoshi Warriors again."

Jet snorted. "Didn't you guys put them in prison?"

"We did."

"Seems like kind of a lost cause, then."

Mai shrugged with graceful nonchalance. "She likes their auras."

"Uh-huh."

"And she can teach them chi-blocking."

"True." Jet took a step inside the room, peering up at the stacks of gilt cases. "Surprised she never taught _you_, actually."

Another shrug. "Not my style." She gestured to the seat beside her — mahogany, with delicate serpentine dragons carved into the back. "Come on, you're making me nervous." She set a second cup in front of him as he settled, and lifted the kettle to pour.

"No thanks," said Jet, covering the cup with his hand. "Not really in the mood for tea."

"Neither am I," said Mai. Something in her tone made him relent, and she poured him a measure of amber liquid. It wasn't until he raised it to his lips that he caught the sharp scent of alcohol.

He laughed and downed it in one gulp, wincing as it burned his throat. "Fuck," he said, his voice somewhat constricted. "That shit's not messing around."

"I only have an hour before the banquet," she said. "This seemed like the most efficient way to make sure I don't kill everyone there." Another sip, her perfect composure more impressive now that he knew what she was drinking. "You should get dressed, by the way."

"There's no fucking way I'm going to that thing."

"And how exactly do you think you'll get out of it?" she drawled. "Zuko-"

"Has more important people to worry about than me."

Mai regarded him with arched eyebrows for several seconds. "You're an idiot," she said as she poured him another cup.

This time he sipped it with a fraction more reserve, although it felt like it was sizzling on his lips. "Fuck you."

"I'm serious. You're what…General of the Siguo Jundui?"

"Major General," Jet muttered into his cup. "I think."

"And his boyfriend."

"Something like that."

"Well, I'm the ex-friend of the girl who just tried to kill the Fire Lord, and consequently one of the least popular people in the city," said Mai. "So if I have to go to this banquet, so do you."

"You're nobility. And you're, you know…_Fire Nation_." The words came out more like an insult than he'd meant them to be, but he blamed that on the whiskey. "It's not the same. I don't belong here."

"Don't be stupid," said Mai. "None of us 'belong' anywhere. We end up where we end up, and we try to make the best of things. At least no one expects _you_ to know what you're doing here. Zuko's probably ready to throw himself off a balcony by now."

Jet raised his eyebrows and held out his now-empty cup. "Why? He's home. He's Fire Lord. His crazy sister's in jail and his dad can't Firebend anymore. Sounds like he's pretty on top of things to me."

Mai rolled her eyes. "Think about it," she said as she refilled the cup. "He was banished when he was thirteen, so the commoners barely know who he is, other than a story you use to scare misbehaving children. He's been living like a peasant for years and half his allies are foreign commoners, so the court won't take him seriously. The royal advisors will tell him he's an idiot for ending the war like this, and if he he tries to replace them the governors will throw a fit. I should know, my father's one of them."

"So how's it gonna help anything if I go to this stupid banquet?" He took another sip. "Sounds like he'd be better off without me hanging around."

Mai sighed. "Look, it's not just this banquet. He's going to spend the next year being told he sucks at his job, that he's a traitor, that Ozai was a better Fire Lord. He'll wake up every morning wondering why he didn't just stay in Ba Sing Se, and he'll go to bed every night wishing he had. It'll be awful, and probably at least once someone'll try to kill him."

"Your point?"

Mai gave him a withering look. "He's going to need people he trusts," she said flatly. "He won't make it through this otherwise."

"I think Aang's got him covered."

"The Avatar has kind of a lot on his plate right now."

"Iroh, then. Whatever. He'll be fine"

For the next several seconds, Mai regarded him thoughtfully over the rim of her cup. Then, "Oh. I get it, now."

"Get what?"

"You're just looking for a reason to leave."

"What?" Jet spluttered.

"You obviously don't want to be here, but you haven't left," said Mai, with an infuriating matter-of-factness. "So, what, are you waiting for permission?"

Jet could feel his ears burning. "I never-"

"Look," Mai went on, somehow cutting him off completely without actually raising her voice. "It's like I said. Things are going to be pretty fucking terrible around here for a long time. And the last thing any of us need is some smug asshole from the Earth Kingdom sneering at us while he whines about how no one likes him."

Jet slammed his cup down, spilling the better half of its contents on the table. "Lady, where the _fuck_ do you get -"

"So if you want to leave, then go," she concluded, nonplussed. "Save us the grief."

"Maybe I will," Jet grumbled, surly and humiliated. "No one wants me here."

"Are you being this dense on purpose?"

"Other than Zuko."

Mai refilled his cup another time — as if he'd simply drunk it down again, rather than sloshing it around in impotent fury. "Why do you care what anyone but Zuko thinks?" she asked. "He's the Fire Lord."

"You just…" Jet clenched his jaw, momentarily overcome with the urge to either strangle her or tear out his hair or both. "Mai, you _just told me_ about how fucked he is."

"I said things would be tough," said Mai, the tinge of amusement in her voice doing nothing for Jet's mood at all. "And they will be. But if he wants you here, no one else will tell you otherwise. That crown _does_ actually mean something." She sighed. "Jet, you're overthinking this. Really. No one will blame you if you decide you can't handle the palace. All I'm saying is that no one's making you leave."

Jet slumped back into his chair, another mouthful of fire whiskey smoldering its way down his throat. "You really know how to cheer a guy up," he said, not quite managing sarcasm.

"I've had enough of boys slouching around feeling sorry for themselves," said Mai. "It's excruciatingly dull."

Jet opened his mouth, full of bristling indignance, but was saved from having to come up with a response more clever than "shut up" by a new arrival at the entrance of the library. Sokka, still dressed in his Water Tribe armor, leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. "So this is where you've been hiding," he drawled, his eyes on Jet.

"I'm not hiding," said Jet, with a slightly slurred petulance that he knew couldn't be helping anything.

Sokka lifted one brow. "Well, Zuko's been looking for you," he said. "So maybe you could hide in his room for a while instead?"

Jet pushed back from the table — the moment when, in his admittedly extensive experience, he'd discover exactly how drunk he'd become. On this occasion, the answer turned out to be "moderately."

He put his cup down on the tabletop with deliberate care. "You'd better show up for dinner," he said to Mai. "I'll need you to tell me which bowl to use."

"I'll do what I can," she said, and Jet imagined her tone was fractionally warmer than before.

oOo

Sokka had a somewhat better grasp of the palace's labyrinthine corridors than Jet did, but the only route to Zuko's chambers that he could remember was an indirect one, and as such the two of them had a much longer walk together than Jet had counted on. Although Sokka had apparently gotten over the worst of his dislike of Jet, their connection could hardly be called a friendship, and they had spent next to no time alone together since Jet's arrival at the Western Air Temple several weeks before.

As they left the library behind, Jet expected their trek through the palace to pass in silence, awkward or otherwise, while he wondered how much more whiskey it was going to take to get him through the banquet. They had only made a few turnings, however, when Sokka abruptly started talking, which in Jet's current state made him teeter a little to one side in surprise.

"Hey, you know," said Sokka, "I never thanked you."

Jet scanned through his recollections of the past month, but nothing came to mind. "For what?"

"Katara told me what happened during the eclipse."

"Yeah?"

"I know she can take things a little far sometimes," Sokka went on, more serious than Jet was accustomed to. "I mean, she's my sister, I've seen her go through some pretty bad stuff. She doesn't always know when to stop."

"Sure," said Jet, who still had no idea what Sokka was talking about.

"You weren't there," said Sokka, "but when Azula almost killed Aang…that hit Katara really hard. We were just kids when we lost mom, you know? This was different. She hasn't really been the same since then."

"Yeah," said Jet. "I know how that can be."

"So when Zuko hit Azula with that lightning yesterday…Katara knows she did the right thing. But she told me she almost couldn't go through with it."

"Can't say I blame her."

"Yeah. But I guess having you there really snapped her out of it. If _you_ could bring yourself to spare some Fire Nation general, well…the least she could do was help Zuko's sister."

"Oh," said Jet. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. Sure, I guess, but it's not like I actually did anything…"

Sokka shrugged. "Katara thinks you did."

They walked another few yards, past tapestries and gilt molding and other absurd trappings of Fire Nation royalty. "All right," said Jet quietly.

"Look, I don't want this to get weird," said Sokka. "I guess I'm just sorry I was kind of a dick to you before, okay? Obviously I read you wrong."

"No," said Jet. "You didn't. Some things changed, is all."

Sokka chuckled. "Speaking of which…" They turned a final corner, then, and Jet abruptly recognized where they were — the corridor in front of Zuko's rooms, the doorway flanked by Imperial Firebenders in full dress uniform despite the summer heat.

"His Highness isn't accepting visitors," said the guard on the left.

The guard on the right turned to hiss at her. "That's _him_."

The first guard's eyes widened as comprehension dawned. "I'm sorry, sir. You're expected."

Jet felt Sokka clap him on the shoulder. "Just try and keep him from making a break for it, okay?"

Then Sokka was gone, whistling tunelessly as he turned down an adjacent hallway, and the guards were bowing slightly as they opened the door for Jet to pass through.

Zuko's chambers — they could hardly be described any other way, no matter how silly Jet felt about it — began with a sort of formal sitting room, which had been stripped of Ozai's furnishings and refilled with a few pieces that had once belonged to Zuko's mother. It had the musty smell of storage and seemed almost barren, with only a few tables and chairs and a handful of art pieces to fill the enormous space.

Jet found Zuko in the room beyond — a cavernous, marble box with a bed in the middle and tall windows all along the far wall. They faced the largest and most elaborate of the palace gardens, and the curtains had been drawn back, allowing warm rectangles of afternoon sunlight to flood across the floor.

Zuko paced before them, his Fire Lord's robes whispering as they dragged along the ground and his crown flashing in the sun. Anxiety rolled off of him, his every movement terse and uncertain. He was also talking to himself, reciting what sounded like a list of names and titles, and as such didn't hear Jet's footsteps crossing the room.

"Hey," said Jet. "Busy?"

Zuko stopped mid-stride, his robes billowing around him. "Jet," he said. His voice, always raspy, now sounded outright strangled. "You're here."

"Of course."

Zuko swept toward him, and suddenly Jet was encased in a hug that was as much brocade as boy, Zuko's face pressed against his cheek and his hands clenched on fistfuls of Jet's shirt. "You're here," he said again, hoarse with a relief that caught Jet entirely off guard. The same way he'd sounded at the Western Air Temple, clinging to Jet as if he'd come back from the grave. As if he'd never expected to see Jet again.

Jet felt a sharp pang of remorse in his chest, the warm buzz of alcohol seeping away. He'd been such an ass.

Jet kissed the scarred corner of his eye, his fingers sliding into the short hairs at the nape of Zuko's neck that had come loose from his topknot. "I'm always gonna be here," he said. And though his own, chaotic life bore testament to how ridiculous a thing that was to say, he meant it.

"Good," Zuko muttered against Jet's neck.

Jet chuckled. "So what's the problem?"

"I'm fucked," said Zuko.

"Not yet," said Jet, grinning. "You said I had to wait until-"

Zuko pulled back enough to glare at Jet unconvincingly. "Jet, seriously, they're gonna kill me."

"Who?"

"The governors," said Zuko. "And the court. Basically everyone." He pulled a scrap of parchment from his sleeve and held it still long enough for Jet to glimpse a long list of names and short descriptions, all written in Zuko's careful scrawl. "I'm supposed to have these memorized," he said, tight with panic. "I've never even met most of these people."

"So they'll introduce themselves."

"No, see that's the thing, I'm supposed to just _know_."

Jet laughed a bit, incredulous. "That's crazy."

"_It's completely crazy_!"

Jet plucked the list from Zuko's fingers and frowned down at it, quickly skimming the characters. "You know, this isn't any worse than remembering all the Freedom Fighters at the Jasmine Dragon," he said.

"Which I was terrible at."

"Maybe," said Jet. He walked over to Zuko's bed and sat down on it crosslegged, the list still in his hand. "If we break this down and memorize it in chunks, I don't think we'll have a problem."

His robes made it impossible for Zuko to sit properly on the bed, so he perched on the edge of it near Jet, his hands on his knees. "Jet, I'm not you," he said, at once irritated and anxious. "I can't just remember a whole bunch of people in an hour."

"Then I'll stay close enough to give you hints," said Jet.

Zuko shot him a dubious glance.

"No, listen, I'll just be like, 'Oh, look, your Highness, isn't that Lord FlameAss over there, governor of the Fire Provinces?' And then you'll be all, 'Why yes, General, I do believe it is! Smashing!'"

The corner of Zuko's mouth twitched. "I don't really think that's in keeping with court etiquette."

"So what? I'm the eccentric foreign dignitary. No one expects me to know this shit. I'm just supposed to stand around being interesting and exotic."

"Jet…"

"I think this system's gonna work out," Jet went on, scooting closer to Zuko across the quilt. "I'll be like your Royal Who-the-fuck-is-that-guy Advisor."

Zuko finally gave in to a proper smile, then. "I think we might have to come up with a shorter title."

"I get to sit near you at the banquet, right? Or at least Mai, she's my bowl consultant."

"Aang will be at my left. Uncle will be at my right." Jet felt his chest tighten a little before Zuko added, "You'll be next to Aang. He said he wouldn't mind us talking over him, and Katara wants to sit with her family anyway."

"Oh…" Jet rubbed his neck, the old scars a little warm under his fingers. "Wow. Yeah, that sounds fine." He paused, looking up at Zuko. He could see his reflection in the engraved diadem, golden patterns of flame and dragons overlaid across his face. "Are you sure that's okay?"

"You're part of my life," said Zuko, quiet but firm. "You belong at my side." He faltered, his gaze flickering away. "If you want to be."

"Well, I'm sitting in the Fire Lord's bedroom," said Jet, who had grown so used to saying absurd things that he almost didn't notice anymore. "So yeah, I guess I do."

Zuko clasped his hands in his lap, the tendons standing out along his knuckles. "This is my room."

"Seems like."

"I'm the Fire Lord."

"Apparently."

Zuko bowed his head, until his brow rested on his hands. "This is so messed up."

"It's not," said Jet. "It's what needed to happen. Really."

"I don't know," said Zuko, his voice muffled. "This isn't what I thought it would be like. I didn't think I'd have to see Azula screaming and crying in a prison cell. I didn't think I'd even _have_ a father anymore, let alone…" He said up again, laughing from nerves. "I mean, taking his bending away? _How is that even a thing you can do?_"

"Dunno," said Jet honestly.

"And I'm glad Aang got to be a monk about it, I guess, but you know, some people are a little freaked out that Avatar can just up and _decide_ you don't get to be a bender anymore. Some people like the Fire Sages. And the courtiers. And the governors-"

"That's Aang's problem to worry about," said Jet. "Not yours."

"Is it? Because no one here seems to think so." Zuko ran a hand down over his face, pulling at his skin. "Fuck. Jet, I have no idea what I'm doing,"

Jet slid an arm around Zuko's waist, leaning in to kiss the other boy's throat as he pulled him close. "You'll figure it out," he said. "We're all still learning, you know? The world's not the same as it was yesterday. You can't just turn heel overnight."

"But I have to," said Zuko. "Everyone's-"

"Everyone can fucking wait a couple days, Zuko. Really."

"Maybe, but-"

"It's all gonna be fine," said Jet. "I promise."

"You can't promise that," Zuko muttered, although he relaxed a little as he leaned into Jet's arms.

"I just did," said Jet. He smiled. "Lucky you, I keep my promises."

oOo

The palace, overwhelming even in daylight, became a forbidding cavern of flickering shadows after sunset. Jet and Zuko had stumbled back to the Fire Lord's chambers after the banquet, drunk and exhausted and leaning heavily against each other, and Jet had had barely enough wherewithal to be annoyed with the servants who insisted on helping Zuko out of his formal robes. Soon enough, the two of them had been left alone, the enormous room lit only by a small lantern, the walls and ceiling lost in the dark.

Zuko fell asleep immediately, but Jet lay awake for what felt like a very long time, watching the curtains stir in the breeze. Beyond them, the calls of unfamiliar insects and night birds filled the moonlit garden.

Jet did not know this place, and despite Zuko's assurances, Jet was aware of how reluctantly it welcomed him. He was a child of the Earth Kingdom forests, born and grown to manhood beneath distant trees, and he felt somehow that even this sheltered palace garden could sense it. His presence here was dissonant, and would be for some time.

And yet. He listened to the other boy's soft, slow breathing, and felt the thrum of his heartbeat through his ribs. His hand rested on the sharp point of an exposed hip, and his nose was pressed to the nape of Zuko's neck, inhaling the scent of jasmine tea that always seemed to linger there.

_Home_, Jet thought. For now, at least. Maybe for always.

oOoOoOo

:: **The End** ::


End file.
